


The End of the World (and After)

by misscam



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2017-12-24 20:16:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 74,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/944185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misscam/pseuds/misscam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a world with no more happy endings. Regina's curse sends them all to a world about to go up in flames. But even at the end of the world, there might be hope – and there is a baby named Emma. [Snow/Charming, Charming family, some Belle/Rumpelstiltskin, eventual Emma/Neal & Emma/Hook, others to be added]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's the end of the world as we know it (and no one is feeling fine)

**Author's Note:**

> In which Regina sent them to a world without happy endings and just an ending. An AU apocalypse set in something akin to our world starring the OUAT characters.  
> The characters have still been cursed, meaning they don't remember their true identities – except those who were exempt from the curse, of course.  
> The story will span at least 28 years. Characters deaths will happen.  
> Mainly centred on Snow, Charming and Emma. Snow/Charming will be the main pairing, but there will also be some Rumple/Belle, eventual Emma/Neal & Emma/Hook, others. A lot of friendships and non-romantic pairings will also feature.  
> Chapter titles will be inspired by various lyrics or poems.  
> Thanks to Angie for beta.

The End of the World (and After)  
by misscam

Disclaimer: Not my characters, just my words.

II

_Prologue_

_Regina_

II

Once upon a time there was an Evil Queen who banished all the storybook characters we think we know to a world without happy endings.

A world about to go up in flames. 

One day. One day in Storybrooke, Maine. That's all she got before she realized what sending them all to world without happy endings really entailed. 

Afterwards, what she remembers is the silence, the one brief moment of it, like an eye of the storm. Silent. So very silent, so very eerie, all of the normal sounds suddenly muted. 

Before it, there was the roar, flame to sky, everything blazing in one moment of pure light. It was almost beautiful. Almost, but nothing that devastating can truly hold beauty.

Then came the sound of it, travelling slower than the light of it, and arriving with the screams of people dying in its wake. 

It's the end of the world as Regina knows it, and she does not feel fine after all.

II

_Chapter One: It's the end of the world as we know it (and no one is feeling fine)_

_Mary Margaret_

II

Mary Margaret used to believe in happily ever after. At least she thinks she did, as the memories from before seem hazy and hard to hold on to. 

She doesn't any more. 

This is a world with no more happy endings. 

Breathing heavily, Mary Margaret leans against the wall and hears the hurried footsteps move in another direction. She remains still for a while longer, and is rewarded when she hears them return, but almost inaudible now.

She holds her breath, waiting, waiting, waiting until finally it is entirely quiet and she is certain her stalker has given up. She's felt followed since she left her apartment, as if someone were trying to see if she has anything worth taking in the backpack she's carrying.

There are people like that out there now. Hunters. Those who find survival in finding other people prey – stealing what they can, or sometimes doing worse. She's already encountered a few, including one she had to knock out with a tire iron to escape.

Funny how fast the world can change from a quiet small town to the end of the world as they know it. It's been a few days, she thinks, but she isn't entirely sure. It's hard to keep track of time, particularly when she just feels numb most of the time.

Peering around the corner, she sees only the darkness, occasionally pierced by flickers of flame. In the distance, something is burning, but something always is these days. Storybrooke has become a maze of ruined buildings, debris and fires. 

Carefully, she begins moving, trying not to breathe as she does. In some parts of the town, the stench seems stronger than others, though she's sure no parts escape it entirely.

As she turns one corner, she notes several shapes ahead; they appear to be arguing. Wearily, she tries to judge if they are armed or not, if they are a threat or not. They are all males, she can tell from the voices. They're standing around a truck and she wonders if it's theirs or if they've killed anyone to gain possession of it.

She sees motion in the corner of her eye, and moves just in time as the bat slashes air instead. Quickly, she swings the stick she is clutching around and hears the sharp cry of pain.

She is not the only one to hear it. Running steps tell her she's about to have company, and she can only hope they are friendly, as she cannot fight four at once. 

Her assailant is doubled over, but straightens as she looks at him. He's merely a child, she notices, dark hair and fearful eyes. For a moment, she feels guilty, but remembers that he attacked her. Still, his age bothers her.

She was a teacher, she remembers. Before all this. She loved children. She wanted children of her own too, but never seemed to find the right guy to have them with. 

"Are you all right?" a voice asks her, and she looks up into a pair of bright blue eyes. For a moment they seem almost familiar, and she tries to shake the odd notion of knowing him.

"I am fine," she says, proud that her voice doesn't even shake. 

"I am David," he says without ceremony. "This is Graham and Gold."

She nods at the two men he's indicating. David is the only one she doesn't know. She knows Graham, of course – he's the sheriff, after all. Gold she only knows by reputation and it's not a good one. But he's staring at her with a faint smile as if he's happy to see her. Odd, that. 

All three men bear the marks of the blast, she notices. They're bruised and battered like she is, with clothes dirty and worn. But they're alive and they haven't tried to kill her so far, which makes them very pleasant company indeed. 

"I am Mary Margaret Blanchard," she says, holding out her hand. 

He looks down at her offered hand hesitantly, and she realises the absurdity of handshaking under the circumstances, but she holds her head up nevertheless. The moment his palm slides against her, she feels hot and cold at once. She can see his lips part and they simply stare at each other for what seems like forever and not long enough.

“Pleased to meet you,” he finally says, looking down at the stick she is still clutching in her other hand. “I see I am too late to play your Prince Charming and be the knight in shining armour.”

“You are,” she agrees softly, “but I appreciate the thought, _Charming_.”

For a moment he almost seems to crack a smile, but then he lets go of her hand and turns to her attacker. The child – for it is a child, even if the eyes are more knowing than even an adult's should be – stares defiantly back. 

“Don't hurt him,” she says, and everyone looks at her now. 

“He would have hurt you,” Gold points out. 

“I know,” she says. “But what would that solve? We'd just all end up hurting each other.”

David looks at her with respect and soft eyes, nodding slightly as if he agrees. She can tell Gold doesn't. 

“What's your name, kid?” David asks the boy, who stares defiantly at them.

“Nicholas,” the boy finally says. He looks sullen and angry, but some of the fight and fear seems to have gone out of him. 

“Nicholas,” Gold repeats, not sounding too impressed. “David, we're not taking another kid along just so you can play Prince Charming in front of Miss Blanchard here. Let them go to the rest of the survivors you and Graham have gathered in the town hall. They'll be safe enough there.”

David looks to be almost blushing, but he squares his shoulders and meets Gold's gaze without flinching. “I'm not leaving Miss Blanchard or a kid here on their own. You can get to your shop on your own if that's a problem.”

“Of course you're not leaving them,” Gold says sarcastically. “Are you going to save the entire world? It's too late. There is no happy ending here.”

“I refuse to believe that,” David says simply and Mary Margaret wishes she had his hope. It seems so hard to hold on to in this world. 

“I'm not going with you,” Nicholas interjects angrily. “I'm not leaving my sister.”

With that, he bolts and when Graham makes a move to stop him, David simply puts a hand on Graham's arm. Graham nods reluctantly and they all watch the kid run off.

Maybe he was just trying to protect his sister, Mary Margaret thinks hopefully. She doesn't want to think too much about the other option, which was that he truly wanted to hurt her.

“What about you, Miss Blanchard?” David asks after a moment. 

“I can take care of myself,” she says and to his credit, he doesn't look like he doubts that for a moment even if she's still dressed like a schoolteacher. “And it's Mary Margaret.”

“Mary Margaret,” he repeats, as if tasting the name. They stare awkwardly at each other and she wonders how he can make her feel like a girl – no, a woman – on her first date while the end of the world is going on.

“Another kid?” she asks, suddenly remembering something Gold said. 

David exchanges a glance with Graham, then steps towards the truck and carefully pulls out a bundle from the front seat. It's a baby, she suddenly realizes. It's a baby wrapped in a woollen baby blanket that says 'Emma'.

“Hey Emma,” David says softly, walking towards Mary Margaret. She feels breathless as he lowers the bundle enough that she can look down on the small baby wrapped securely in his arms. “This is Mary Margaret.”

“Hey Emma,” Mary Margaret replies, feeling strangely awestruck at the sight of the small baby. “Did you name her?” .

“No,” he says. “It was on the baby blanket I found her wrapped in.”

“Oh, so she's not...”

“Not mine. At least I don't think so. I don't remember,” he says slowly. “I was in a coma when the blast hit. I don't remember anything from before. All I know is that my papers called me David Nolan.”

“Oh,” Mary Margaret says, realizing she's reached out to touch his arm comfortingly without even thinking.

“I found this girl in the hospital,” David goes on. “Everyone around her was dead. She was crying.”

“You were half dead yourself,” Graham cuts in. “How you got out of there with her before the building collapsed, I don't know.”

“I had some help,” David says, giving Graham a grateful look.

“I would be a poor sheriff if I let a man barely out of his coma do all the baby saving on his own,” Graham jokes, but she can tell he doesn't really put any effort into it. Humor is a way of coping, she knows, and there is a lot to cope with. 

“She's lovely,” Mary Margaret says, as Emma's small fingers close around one of hers. It makes her breath catch. In the middle of all this destruction, it seems like such a miracle that a baby should live.

“She is,” David agrees. Somehow, a baby in his arms looks completely right. Maybe he was a father and has simply forgotten. 

“Do you know if her parents are alive?” she asks softly. 

“They abandoned her,” he replies quietly. “That's what her papers said. I took them with me along with all the baby formula I could find. She was found by another kid in the forest outside of Storybrooke. He brought her to the hospital here before the blast.”

“You didn't see that kid in the hospital?” she asks, and he shakes his head.

“Either he left or he's dead,” he says numbly. Perhaps like her he's seen so much death by now he has to focus on the living in order not to break down. 

“Charming as all this is,” Gold cuts in, looking impatient. “The deal was that you would help me reach my shop and I would help you with supplies for this baby you've adopted.”

“Yes, Gold,” David says tiredly. He coos at Emma, then glances at Mary Margaret. “I'm sorry, I have to...”

Mary Margaret thinks about survival, about her apartment that she's been hiding out in, about no more happy endings, about David and baby Emma and about hope. Survival is more than necessities. There must also be hope. 

“Is there room for one more?” she asks, then bites her lip. “I mean, maybe I can help with Emma and...”

“Yes,” David says hurriedly, looking at her in a way that makes her blush. “Yes, for however long you want to.”

“You'd think you were a shepherd in a past life from how fast you manage to get yourself a flock, David,” Gold says but Mary Margaret can tell he's not entirely disapproving. He leans on his cane, looking intently at them. 

“Don't start, Gold,” Graham says. He looks protective as he gazes at baby Emma, and Mary Margaret somehow knows that if David has taken the role of father, then Graham has already claimed the right to be the uncle. 

“Are you trying to drive to Gold's shop?” she asks.

Graham shakes his head. “Road's blocked up ahead. This is as close as we can get. We were discussing the best course of action when you showed up. There might be looters there or the building might be at risk of burning.”

She nods. The fires have been spreading slowly but surely. That's why she finally decided to leave her apartment and head for the woods instead. That, and she was running low on food. 

“Graham and I can go inside and retrieve whatever we find is worth it,” David says. “Emma can stay with Mary Margaret.”

“Correction,” Gold says icily. “You and I go inside. Graham stays with Mary Margaret and Emma. This is my shop, Mr. Nolan and my deal was with you.”

“Fine,” David says, glancing down at Emma in his arms and then slowly easing the baby into Mary Margaret’s arms. “Protect her?”

“With my life,” she promises. He nods as if he believes that, then glances over at Graham. 

“Be careful,” Graham says.

“Same,” David replies and with that, he and Gold walk off into the night. She can hear soft curses as they climb the debris, and then there is only the distant crackle of flames and the occasional faint unidentified sound. 

“Hello Emma,” Mary Margaret says, moving her attention to the baby. The baby doesn't look entirely happy, and a moment later she wails. All the rocking Mary Margaret does calms Emma for a moment, then she cries again. 

“She must be hungry,” Graham says. “We had some baby formula left, it's in the car...”

He trails off, staring at her. 

“What?” she asks.

He touches his chest and Mary Margaret looks down her own. A stain is growing on her shirt, she realizes. She's lactating, as impossible as that seems. She's had no child of her own, no birth that she can remember, and yet she has milk. How...?

That can wait, she decides, suddenly not caring how. Emma is hungry. She has food. 

Graham turns away as she carefully eases her top up and her bra down, and then moves Emma to her breast. The baby clamps onto the nipple after a few tries and sucks greedily. She's breastfeeding and she marvels at how it feels. 

“Is she yours?” Graham asks without looking. 

“Not that I remember,” she says. “I don't even remember being pregnant.”

Whether he believes her or not, she doesn't know. He just remains politely turned away while she feeds Emma. Only when she has awkwardly covered herself up again and clears her throat does he turn back. 

She blushes, not entirely sure what to say. He looks at her steadily. 

“Do you think you could keep feeding her?” he finally asks.

“I-I don't know,” she admits, biting her lip. “Maybe. I can try.”

“It would really help,” Graham says gently. “None of the other survivors we've located so far have been able to breastfeed.”

“Have you found many?” Mary Margaret asks, morbid curiosity getting the better of her.

“No,” Graham says quietly. “Mostly we find people dead. We have about a dozen living in the town hall right now. We've gathered supplies and we send out parties looking for survivors, but some prefer to go with Albert Spencer instead. He's set up a camp by the school. And some people are beyond reason and attack. We lost Gus yesterday. Ruby was inconsolable. She was with him when it happened.”

Mary Margaret remembers Ruby and feels a pang of sympathy. 

“What about your building?” Graham asks. “We would have sent a search party there eventually, but if you know...”

“All dead,” she says, shuddering as she remembers how she found her neighbours. “There's only me.”

He nods slowly. “I'm sorry.”

“Me too,” she offers, fighting back tears. She cried so much the first day she thought she was all out of them, but apparently she is not. 

“But this little girl lived,” Graham says after a moment, his eyes softening. “David saved her and now you'll save her.”

Mary Margaret blushes again. “I don't even know how.”

“Doesn't matter,” Graham offers. “It won't matter to David.”

She thinks of David Nolan's gentle blue eyes regarding her and it makes her toes curl. She offers Graham a weak smile, glancing down at Emma. The baby has fallen back asleep, she realizes, looking completely at peace.

“Maybe she'll save us,” Mary Margaret says, a thought she's not even sure where it's coming from except somewhere deep in her mind. 

Graham looks at her curiously, but before he can ask they hear noises. Graham pulls out his gun right away, pointing it at the darkness. 

“It's me,” David's voice calls and Graham relaxes. A moment later, David steps out of the shadows with a sword strapped to his hip. Graham raises an eyebrow while Mary Margaret simply stares. 

It becomes him, she thinks faintly. It suits him really well.

“Gold insisted I take the sword,” David says as answer to Graham's unspoken question. He shrugs. “It's a weapon.”

“Where's Gold?” Graham asks. 

“At the shop still. We... We encountered a looter after all,” David says hesitantly. “Gold got all funny about it.”

Graham sighs. “Did he beat the poor guy up?”

“No,” David says, walking over to Mary Margaret and smiling down at Emma. “It was a she. And he kinda hugged her instead.”

“Hugged her?” Mary Margaret repeats. Even if she doesn't really know Gold personally, that still strikes her as odd. Graham looks quite disbelieving as well, she notices.

“Yeah,” David says. “Called her Belle repeatedly. He looked all torn up about it. She doesn't remember him, just that some guy named Jefferson pulled her out of a wreckage and told her to find Gold. She found Gold's shop at least. Maybe she was in a coma like me. Anyway, Gold's trying to talk her into coming with us.”

“Huh,” Graham says. “So the shop is safe?”

“Yeah. We can take whatever we want and load up the car, then head back to the town hall,” David says, then looks down at Emma sadly. “He didn't have any baby formula. I knew it was a long shot, but I had hoped...”

“That might not be a problem,” Mary Margaret says, feeling quite self-conscious as David looks at her. “I can feed her.”

“You have baby formula?” David asks hopefully.

“No,” she says and David looks confused. “I mean... I can feed her. Breastfeed her.”

He blinks. 

“I don't know how it happened,” she goes on. “I haven't been pregnant that I remember, but Emma started crying and then I...”

She blushes and bites her lip and David blinks at her again. Then slowly, his face lights up.

“You can feed her?” he asks, and when she nods he breaks into the first true smile she's seen on him. It lights up his whole face and makes it impossible not to smile back at him. 

“I don't know how,” she stresses again, but he cups her cheeks in his hands.

“I don't care,” he says softly. “I could kiss you right now.”

Her gaze falls to his lips at that, imagining how they would feel against hers. It makes her cheeks flush and she almost wishes he would, even with a baby pressed between them. 

“The shop, David,” Graham says and David steps away reluctantly. 

“Will you be okay with watching Emma while we get what we need?” he asks, touching Emma's forehead gently with a finger. The baby makes a soft noise in response. 

“Of course,” Mary Margaret replies, smiling reassuringly at him. 

“Take this,” Graham says, holding out his gun and offering it to her. She accepts it hesitantly, keeping Emma secured safely in her other arm. “We'll be back soon.”

She nods. They walk off hurriedly, and she's left with Emma. A few hours ago her main concern was to get enough supplies and now she's holding a baby. She's suddenly responsible for another life – well, jointly. There is David too. 

Strange how alive he makes her feel in all the death, she thinks faintly. 

“Miss Blanchard?” a voice says.

“Who's there?” she asks, clutching the gun more firmly. She doesn't want to hurt anyone, but for Emma, she will. 

Nicholas steps forward, holding hands with a blonde girl. Oh. His sister, she assumes. They probably waited until the men left, she realizes. That's either a good thing or a very bad thing. 

“You are Miss Blanchard, aren't you?” the girl asks. “The school teacher?”

“I was,” Mary Margaret admits. 

“I'm Ava and this is Nicholas,” the girl goes on. Nicholas looks down. “Nicholas was only trying to get food from you. He wasn’t going to kill you.”

A few days ago, Mary Margaret would have found the notion of a child willing to kill beyond belief. Now she is simply glad a kid was simply willing to get violent for food and nothing more. It makes her want to laugh bitterly.

“Why don't you go to the town hall,” she suggests instead. “Tell them you met David and Graham and they told you to go there.”

“You won't tell them what I tried to do?” Nicholas asks suspiciously. 

“I won't,” Mary Margaret promises. She won't. This might not be a world that provides second chances any more, but a kid should get them. 

The siblings regard her for a moment longer, then Ava whispers something to Nicholas and then pulls her brother with her. To head to the town hall, Mary Margaret hopes. 

The rest of the wait is uneventful and seems to go on forever until she finally hears David's voice call her name. She relaxes at once and smiles at him as he walks out of the shadows with several boxes in his arms. Graham follows, and then Gold and then a red-head that looks quite unsettled. But she is following Gold willingly enough, so perhaps she does know him after all. 

“Hey, I'm Mary Margaret,” she says as ways of introduction. “This is Emma.”

“She's Belle,” Gold says, and his voice has lost all of the calm from before. He sounds protective and affectionate and even sad, and both Graham and David are looking at him with curiosity. 

“I don't know that name,” Belle says. An accent that sounds Australian, Mary Margaret notes. The only other Australian she knows in town is Moe French, but he didn't have a daughter. 

“Know the feeling,” David says simply. “Come on, we'll all feel better once we get to the town hall.”

The men load the truck up, before Gold and Belle climb up as well. Gold starts talking to Belle in a low voice right away, looking like he's trying to reassure her. She doesn't answer, but she is listening, Mary Margaret is sure.

David opens the door to the truck for her, and she eases in with Emma still in her arms. He follows while Graham gets in from the other side and then drives. Not very smoothly, given how littered the streets are, but Emma only sleeps on as Mary Margaret carefully eases her back into David's arms. 

David looks at Emma with such affection, kissing her forehead gently before glancing up at Mary Margaret. 

“I'm very glad I met you tonight,” he says sincerely. 

“I am too,” she replies, feeling torn between an urge to be shy and an urge to be bold with him. 

“Even if I wasn't Prince Charming?” he jokes.

“Oh, but you were,” she counters and his lips turn upwards slightly. “Charming, at least. Prince, I don't know.”

“I don't know either,” he says thoughtfully. “I don't remember. I just know I took one look at this baby girl and she was my princess, end of the world or not.”

“Yeah,” she breathes and their gazes meet and link. 

His hand has moved to rest on her thigh, she realizes. It remains there the whole ride through what remains of Storybrooke, Prince Charming, Mary Margaret and Princess Emma at the end of the world.


	2. Conversations after the end of the world

II

_Interlude: Belle_

II

At the end of the world, what she remembers is the smell of flesh. She closes her eyes and the ringing in her ears drowns out the sound of the world ending, but she can't turn off her nose.

Human flesh burning. A terribly sweet smell that makes her gag, that fills her mind and makes her want to scream. People are dying and she can smell it. People are dying and she wishes she was dead.

Maybe she is dead. Maybe this is hell, her hell.

She doesn't know how much time has passed when the door opens and a man offers her a hand. His name is Jefferson. She doesn't know hers.

She takes his hand numbly and lets him lead her out, listening to his ramblings about how she has to find Gold, how Gold can fix this if he cares, how she is what Gold cares about.

Outside, the sky is burning and it's raining ashes.

This isn't hell, she realizes. This is something far more terrifying, because no one could have done anything terrible enough to deserve this.

II

_Chapter Two: Conversations after the end of the world_

_David_

II

In some ways, having no memories of the time before helps to deal with the end of the world, David has come to conclude. Whatever he had in the world before this one, he can't remember it, so he doesn't feel the loss so keenly. It's more vague – a sense that something is wrong, a general sense of grief, the shadow of despair that hangs over them all.

He's also more aware of what he does have now. There's Graham, who came to help him get Emma out and became something like a friend over the last few days. There's Emma, who has become precious to him from the moment he saw her look up at him. There's the little group they've gathered, a growing community in the ashes of civilization.

And there's Mary Margaret Blanchard. He doesn't quite dare think about who she might be to him yet. He just knows that it will be something.

He watches her now, as she's greeted by the others in the town hall (as Belle was before her, now being offered some soup by Gold). Ruby hugs her, Granny gives her a comforting pat on the arm, Leroy simply gives her a look and returns to the bottle, Smee and Sean barely even look at her and Sidney keeps his eyes on her far too long for David's liking. The others at the camp will have to wait since they're out looking for more survivors and supplies.

"Do you want me to get her a cot close to you and Emma?" Graham asks and David realizes he's been staring and hurriedly looks at Graham instead. "In case Emma wakes up hungry during the night?"

He hadn't thought of that, David has to admit, but it makes perfect sense. The thought of Mary Margaret sleeping close sparks quite a few other thoughts too, but he puts them firmly away.

"I'll ask her," he says instead. Gently, he approaches Mary Margaret and Ruby, who are talking together with hushed voices. They seem friendly, so perhaps they were friends before.

"David. Emma," Ruby says, smiling ever so faintly at what must be a familiar sight of him carrying Emma. He knows he could put her in the crib he's put together, but somehow he prefers carrying her most of the time. It's as if he fears she will disappear if he puts her down.

(A silly thought, perhaps, but he is a man who woke up to the world burning.)

"Ruby," he says softly. He can see from the dark circles under her eyes that she hasn't slept much. She cried over Gus' corpse for a long time, he knows, and they also said she ripped the man who attacked them limb from limb. Looking at her, it's hard to imagine such viciousness, but this is a new world. "Mary Margaret."

Mary Margaret meets his gaze and then looks down, a gesture he's noticed her making a few times now.

"I was wondering if you would like to sleep near me and Emma," he says hurriedly. "If you're still willing to feed her, it might be easier that way if she wakes up during the night."

"Of course," she breathes, nodding for emphasis.

He nods over at Graham, who nods back and disappears to find whatever they have for Mary Margaret to sleep on.

"I can show you where it is," he says to Mary Margaret.

"I'm going to see if Granny needs a help," Ruby says, glancing at Mary Margaret. "I'm glad you're here, Mary Margaret."

"Me too," Mary Margaret says gently. As Ruby walks off, she glances around the camp they've made here at the town hall. It isn't much, he knows. But the building still has a roof and is still standing, which is more than can be said for a lot of other buildings. And it's large enough to house their little group even if it's not ideal and it is rather cramped in some quarters.

The smell of ashes and death no building can keep out, but he's almost stopped noticing it by now.

"This is..." Mary Margaret says, clearly trying to find a polite way of saying 'not bad under the circumstances'.

"Yeah," he agrees. He shifts Emma into the crook of his arm, offering the other to Mary Margaret. "Let me give you the tour."

She hooks her arm in his and he walks her across what once was a driveway and now holds a campfire they cook and boil water at and keep the cars they have in working order or are trying to restore too. Gas will become an issue, he knows, but he leaves that worry for when they get to it.

"Is the mayor one of your group?" Mary Margaret asks.

"No," he says. "Her manor is one of the houses that have burned to the ground. Graham tried to look for her, but he says he found no trace of her. If she survived, she hasn't made her way here."

"Oh," Mary Margaret says. She looks thoughtful. "I was a little terrified of her, but I'm sorry if she's gone."

She must have a big heart to grieve even those who frightened her, he thinks. But then, he already suspected that from how easily she took to Emma and how she dealt with the kid who was trying to hurt her.

"Did you have any you lost?" he asks. He has seen the ring with a green stone on her finger, but he has also noticed it's not on her ring finger.

"I didn't have any family left," she says. "But I worry about my pupils. I don't know if any of them..."

She trails off and he can't quite hide a shudder. He's seen dead children on his trips with Graham. So many dead, often shielded by their parents to no avail. There was only the one girl they found alive. Young Grace. She still wakes screaming in the night, but then, so do many adults.

At least Emma is alive, and he looks down at her for a moment, drawing comfort from the sight of her.

"You were a teacher?" he asks after a moment.

"Yes," Mary Margaret replies. She bites her lip. "I'm not sure how useful that makes me."

"As far as I'm concerned, just being Mary Margaret makes you very useful," he says sincerely. He pushes open the door to the town hall, and they walk into the dark building. With the electricity knocked out, it's as dark inside as outside. It's not much warmer either, and he knows that come winter they may have another problem on their hands. If they survive that long.

It's hard to think about the future when the past went up in flames and the present is all ashes.

Mary Margaret looks at everything they've stacked up inside as he leads her through. There are tools and clothes and even food. It feels almost ghoulish to take items from the buildings where they find no survivors, but then, the dead have no use of it.

"There are a few things from my apartment we could bring here," Mary Margaret suggests suddenly and he glances down at her. She's survived for days on her own and managed to defend herself, he remembers. She's tough.

The 'we' is not lost on him either.

"We should do that," he agrees. "This is where I sleep."

She looks at the small area he's tried to make into a bedroom for himself and Emma, shielded from the rest of the room with a half-burned tarp and some broken furniture. It's not much, he knows, but he still feels strangely shy as she regards the small crib he's constructed for Emma.

He eases Emma into it, and she makes that noise she makes every time he lets her go. It strangely heartbreaking and heart-warming at once.

"It's not much," he says in the silence. "If you'd rather sleep with Ruby and Granny, I'll understand."

"No," she says quickly. "I want to sleep here. If that's okay."

"That's more than okay," he says sincerely and she smiles hesitantly.

She's taken his hand, he realizes. He glances down at how her small hand fits in his and how their fingers intertwine as if by instinct.

"I found this," Graham says from behind them. For once, David almost wishes his friend wasn't quite as good at finding stuff fast as he seems to be. He squeezes Mary Margaret's hand softly before letting go and turning around.

It's not exactly luxury, but the mattress looks whole and relatively clean. He helps Graham move it to the floor, shifting the cot a little to make room. It will be snug sleeping, but Mary Margaret doesn't seem to mind.

"I'll take the mattress and you can sleep on my cot," he suggests and Mary Margaret looks ready to protest so he holds up a hand. "I insist."

"Don't argue with him," Graham says. "He's stubborn."

"So am I," Mary Margaret says boldly, and he thinks he rather likes boldness and stubbornness – at least with her.

"Ava and Nicholas showed up so I gave them our last cot," Graham says after a moment and Mary Margaret looks delighted at that. "Sean's looking after them for now."

"I told them to come here. I hope you don't mind," Mary Margaret says.

"Not at all," David says reassuringly. He thinks he will have a talk with Nicholas about hurting others, though. "Do you want anything to eat, or...?"

"I actually wouldn't mind resting," she says and he curses himself for not thinking that she might be exhausted earlier. He certainly is, his body frequently reminding him he is just out of a coma – he just chooses to ignore it.

"Of course. I'll let you get settled in peace and be back later," he offers. "Emma should sleep but if she wakes up..."

"I'll handle it," Mary Margaret says sweetly.

"Right," he says awkwardly. He offers her a faint smile before walking out with Graham.

"One of the patrols is back," Graham says as they head out into the not-particularly-fresh-air. "Another building cleared. One survivor, though he's in pretty bad shape. Ruby's looking after him. The other isn't back yet. And Gold's looking for you."

"Great," David murmurs. He really can't make heads or tails of Gold. The guy treats everyone with the same lack of respect, yet he seems to have a strange trust in David despite the whole coma and amnesia thing. It almost makes David suspect that Gold actually knows who he is very well. "I'll go talk to him."

"Do that. Then get some rest," Graham says gently, patting his shoulder.

David finds Gold by the fire, the older man staring into the flames as if they hold answers. The flickering light makes his skin seem almost golden and the image seems strangely familiar for a moment. He looks old too, as if he's lived centuries rather than decades.

"I thought she was dead," Gold says without preamble. He must mean the woman they found in the shop, David thinks. Belle. That was her name.

"Who was she?"

Gold closes his eyes for a moment. "It's more what she might have been, dearie. But I didn't let her. I didn't think she could truly love me."

David bites back quite a few questions. For one thing, he's not sure he would actually get an illuminating answer rather than one just creating more questions, and for the other, he really has no right to ask. Not yet, anyway. Perhaps one.

"Maybe you have a second chance now?" he suggests instead.

"Second chances after the end of the world? You are quite the optimist, aren't you?"

David refuses to take the bait. "What do you want, Gold?"

Gold straightens up and the teasing attitude vanishes as if going up in smoke. "Belle's like you. She has no memories of this world. I don't want her to feel alone. Could you just... Just talk to her sometimes?"

It's a strangely selfless and sincere request, David thinks. Perhaps there is more to Gold than he assumed, and he gives Gold a long, thoughtful look.

"I'll talk to her," David offers. "If she wants me to."

Gold nods, looking up at David solemnly. "I'll owe you one. How's your charming little baby holding up?"

"Fine," David says, watching the way Gold's eyes glint. "Why do you care so much about her?"

"I'm a fan of fatherhood, dearie," Gold says softly. "She has a very charming name too. Emma. The moment I heard it, I knew she was destined for great things."

David remembers Gold's odd expression at hearing the name. Come to think of it, it was after that that Gold really started coming to him.

"Right," David says neutrally, but Gold merely smiles as if amused. "I'll see you tomorrow, Gold."

"Give that fair schoolteacher of yours my best wishes," Gold comments, giving David a knowing look.

"She's not... Mine," David says awkwardly.

"Give it time," Gold simply says and turns his attention back to the flames. David leaves him there, feeling the events of the day begin to seriously cash in on the checks his body has been writing.

But no rest for anyone in a wicked world, it seems, and David finds Belle sitting on the hood of one the wrecked cars, looking lost.

"Hey," he says.

She looks up at him. "Hey. You're David, right?"

"Yeah," he says. "At least I think so. I was in a coma. I don't really remember."

She looks surprised at that, then thoughtful. "I was in the asylum. I don't remember anything, not even if I really was crazy or not."

"I just woke up to the world ending," he says and closes his eyes at the barrage of memories slamming into him. He has to take a deep breath before continuing. "If that isn't crazy, I don't know what is. I don't think any of us are entirely sane any more, Belle. You're not alone."

She leans her head against her knees. "Or we're all alone now."

He isn't quite sure what to reply to that, so he simply leans against the car and watches the distant fires with her. The horizon is fogged by smoke from something burning far away. Graham has told him he suspects it's Boston on fire. He can't even imagine the scale of destruction there or perhaps he doesn't want to.

"Are you hungry?" he asks, as his stomach sharply reminds him that he actually is.

Belle closes her eyes. "Is it anything involving cooked meat?"

"I think it's soup made out of canned vegetables," he replies.

"Okay," she says softly, closing her eyes for a moment. "I can't stand the smell of burning flesh."

He doesn't ask why as they head towards the eating area, as he has a fair idea and it's not one he'll force her to relive unless she wants to talk about it.

They have a quick bowl of soup with Leroy, who seems to be spicing it with vodka. Afterwards, he leaves Belle with Leroy as the two seem to find some solace in each other's quiet company. The fact that Gold is watching isn't lost on David, and he has a feeling it's not lost on Belle either.

He uses a little water to clean himself quickly, mindful that they have a limited supply. (Fresh water, another future issue, along with pretty much everything else they have. So many future issues it's hard to do anything but live in the present and not think ahead. Still, he knows they will have to eventually.)

Sean and Sidney are taking a night shift, keeping an eye out for fires nearby, looters or any other aggressors. David gives them an encouraging pat on the shoulder before heading inside.

For all his exhaustion, he still pauses as he walks into the small 'room' he's made for himself and Emma – and now Mary Margaret – and just watches. Emma is sleeping, and so is Mary Margaret. She's sleeping on the mattress, though, and he smiles faintly at that. Stubborn. Then again, he thinks he might be quite stubborn too.

Gently, he wraps the blankets more firmly around her and lifts her up onto his cot. She doesn't wake, simply sighs in her sleep, with her lashes dark against her pale skin. She is beautiful, he has to admit to himself. The small cut over her eye and the bruise on her neck doesn't change that. They will all carry scars in this world.

He slips out of his tattered jeans (not really his – he woke in a hospital gown, but Graham had a few extra pairs that are slightly too tight but usable) and takes his shirt off, then lies down on the mattress with a sigh. His body hurts. His shoulder aches almost as much as his head, but today has been worth all the pain.

It feels like he's found something he didn't even know he was looking for.

He listens to the sounds of Emma and Mary Margaret sleeping until he falls asleep himself, and the familiar nightmares take over.

II

Screaming.

He bolts upright instantly, the sound tearing through his sleep. For a second, he's back at the hospital, waking to flames and screams and death, so much death.

Panting, he realizes it's Emma crying, and that Mary Margaret has already woken up and is standing by the crib with the blanket draped around her like a cape. He watches, utterly unable to look away, as she picks up Emma and pulls down her top enough to put the baby to her breast.

She blushes when she notices that he's awake, but she meets his gaze straight on and lifts her chin. There is something almost regal in her attitude and he finds it impossible to look away from.

Emma is making soft noises as she sucks and he sits up on his knees as Mary Margaret sits down on his cot with Emma in her arms.

"Sorry," he says, not quite sure what he's apologizing for. Maybe for staring, or maybe for the baby waking her.

"Don't be," she says softly. "Feels like we have too much to be sorry for already."

"Yeah," he agrees. Far too much. Millions of things, millions of deaths. "I try not to think about it. If I started I wouldn't..."

"Wouldn't be able to stop," she finishes for him and her green eyes are luminous with tears. She bites her lip and without even thinking – as if it's just natural – he leans forward and presses his forehead against hers.

She exhales at the touch, her breath so close he can feel it brush his lips. She doesn't move away, simply closes her eyes. Emboldened, he kisses her eyelids softly, wishing he could kiss her tears away too.

He isn't sure how long they remain like that, forehead to forehead with Emma between them, only that it isn't long enough. Eventually, Mary Margaret pulls away and he sees that Emma has fallen back asleep.

"I'll change her diaper," he says and Mary Margaret eases Emma into his arms. He feels rather self-conscious as Mary Margaret watches him change Emma, more aware than ever of just how little he knows about raising a baby. If he's ever had one, he can't remember it.

He puts Emma back into the crib when he's finished, then slips out quickly to discard the diaper with the rest of the trash. He knows he will eventually have to make cloth diapers for her, as the packages of diapers Graham managed to find in the half-burned convenience store won't last.

Mary Margaret is still sitting on his cot when he comes back, her blanket wrapped around her as she watches Emma sleep. He sits down beside her, pulling his own blanket around his legs. The silence isn't uncomfortable, he finds.

"I seem to have fallen asleep on the mattress and woken up on the cot," she says after a while. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

"It's a complete mystery," he says and is rewarded with her lips turning up slightly.

"I would offer it back to you but I suspect I would just wake up to another complete mystery," she comments and he can feel his own lips turn upwards too.

"Sounds likely."

She doesn't quite chuckle, but she does make a soft noise of amusement. He likes the gentle teasing, he finds. She feels so right, she and Emma, in this world of wrong. From the way she looks at Emma, he's pretty sure she feels the same way about their baby girl (because Emma feels like theirs now), and from the way Mary Margaret looks at him...

Her eyes are bright as he gazes at her and he can't look away. Neither can she, it seems. They seem almost magnetically drawn to each other.

"David," she says. How she can manage to make his name sound so intimate, he has no idea, but then, he finds it hard to say her name in a way that isn't a caress himself.

So he doesn't try to. "Mary Margaret."

Her lips part slightly as he leans closer. He thinks about kissing her, like he's wanted to since he took her hand and felt something spark. It's a strange thing, the fact that they met less than a day ago and it still feels like he knows her and she knows him.

"I could kiss you right now," he admits, his voice slightly husky even to his own ears. She doesn't look away.

"You should kiss me right now," she says instead and his breath catches. Then he does.

She tilts her head upwards to meet his kiss, her lips slightly parted as he brushes his lips feather-light against them once, twice, three times and then he slants his mouth across hers and feels the heat of her mouth.

It doesn't feel like a first kiss, he thinks dimly. Not that he remembers any first kisses, but this feels familiar in a way his mind can't put to words but his body hums with.

He lifts his hand to her cheek, caressing it gently while kissing her deeply. She moans at the back of her throat, brushing her tongue against his and trying to press herself even closer.

They're both breathless as they pull apart, leaning their foreheads against each other. He can see her chest rise and fall and see the faint moisture clinging to her swollen lips, and it's all he can do not to kiss her again. Instead, he moves his hands to her ear, caressing her earlobe with his thumb.

"It's still dark outside," he finally manages. "We should get some sleep."

They'll need it in the morning, he knows – even if he would like nothing more than to stay awake with Mary Margaret and just be with her until morning (and maybe kiss her a million times more).

She nods, and he reluctantly stands up and moves the few feet to his mattress. She watches him as he lies down before lying down on her side.

"Goodnight, David," she offers.

"Goodnight, Mary Margaret," he replies. She watches him for a moment longer, then finally closes her eyes. Only when he's sure she's fallen asleep does he allow himself to drift off too and let sleep (and the nightmares) claim him.


	3. Walk the world, it stands still / you're the king of the hill

II

_Interlude: Owen_

II

This is how a childhood ends, Owen learns – in fire.

They are just camping, he and dad. Camping out in the forest, like they have so many times before. Such a perfectly ordinary thing.

Such a terrible extraordinary day.

When the fire comes from the sky, dad holds him and whispers that it will be all right. Owen doesn't believe that. The light is too bright, the flames are too high, the sound is too loud. Even a child knows that is far from all right.

He's terrified. He's always thought dad could protect him from anything, but he doesn't think even a million fathers could protect anyone from this.

Dad looks terrified too, and that scares Owen as well. He's never seen dad afraid before. In fact, dad clings to Owen as much as Owen clings to him and they hold each other while the sky and the future burns.

It's dark afterwards, so very dark as the lights of the town go out. Fires begin to light up instead like candles, only candles made out of houses. Owen finally falls asleep to it, and wakes up several times during the night to hear his father sobbing.

In the morning, they find a woman among the trees, with burns along her body. Regina, she manages to tell them in a painful gasp. Regina Mills.

Owen wants to save her.

II

_Chapter three: Walk the world, it stands still / you're the king of the hill_

_Rumpelstiltskin_

II

A world without happy endings, Rumpel muses. It seemed like such an abstract notion, yet here he is, stuck in it. He was warned once that the future may not be what it seems. It appears to be true. This certainly isn't what he had in mind.

He will endure it nevertheless. He has to.

The sky is burning as he watches it, both from the sunrise and from the fires dotting the landscape and reaching for the sky. In all his years, he's seen a lot of death and destruction and darkness. (And even caused some.)

He's never seen anything like this. The end of the world – and yet the sun goes on shining. That there should be an after something as terrible as this seems almost beyond belief.

Mary Margaret Blanchard is stepping out into the morning light, he notices. He can tell she's cradling the baby and feeding it, and she blushes as she notices him looking.

Emma. Hearing that name was like the ending of another world, the illusion that he was simply Mr. Gold of Storybrooke. He is not. He is Rumpelstiltskin, the Dark One – the only one who seems to remember who he truly is. Except Regina, if she's still alive in this world she brought them to. (And that one other that remembers.)

He isn't sure if he would actually like her to be alive or not. Sometimes, she's been useful to him and sometimes she's been a hindrance and sometimes he sees her and thinks of Cora and what might have been. Perhaps it would be poetic justice that the same curse Regina cast to end all happy endings would be her end, but it still somehow feels unsatisfactory.

Mary Margaret is looking every inch the protective mother as he walks over (having waited until she has finished feeding). It makes him wonder if there remains a sliver of Snow in her. They would all certainly fare better if that was true, he thinks.

Snow and Charming did somehow manage to find each other and their daughter, so perhaps there is something buried deep inside them that makes them feel who they are even if they don't remember. If there isn't, he'll have to force it out of them. He'll need them. Emma will need them, and he needs Emma.

"Good morning, Miss Blanchard," he says politely.

"Good morning," she replies. Looking slightly guarded. But then Emma makes a soft noise and Mary Margaret smiles down at her affectionately and all the guards seem down.

"Is Mr. Nolan awake as well?" he takes the opportunity to ask, leaning on his cane. The fact that David Nolan and Mary Margaret are sleeping in close proximity of each other hasn't been lost on anyone in the camp, least of all him. He sees. He always sees.

"No, I... Emma woke up, but I didn't want to wake David," she replies hesitantly. "He looked tired."

They all are, Rumpel thinks and see the fatigue in Mary Margaret's eyes too. It isn't just physical. Mentally, they're all exhausted.

"Wanting to protect him already, dearie?" he needles and registers the blush to her cheeks. "Along with that charming baby? I can help you."

"What?" she says, sounding confused at the sudden turn of topic.

"Weapons are the true commodity in this world," he tells her. "I have many. I can help you have the means to protect them both."

She looks torn between her schoolteacher sensibilities and the survivor in her, he can see from the changing expressions on her face.

"That's why you wanted David to take you to your shop," she says after a moment.

"Yes," he agrees readily. Getting weapons and other useful items was part of the reason, after all. It just wasn't the whole reason.

She glances down at Emma, and her face softens and then slowly hardens.

"What do you want from me?" she asks and he smiles, but not particularly pleasantly.

"You're already doing it, dearie. I have a vested interest in your and Emma's survival."

"Why?"

He could probably give her the truth – that he needs Emma to break the curse properly, that he needs the part of them that is Snow and Charming to get to that point, that he would prefer them to stay alive, that there is Belle too now – and she wouldn't believe him.

"I want a happy ending," he says instead; also a truth.

Mary Margaret doesn't look convinced, which isn't all that strange given the circumstances. Happy endings seem like such an impossible thing when even surviving is rife with such difficulty.

"Okay," she finally says, accepting his offer if not his reason.

As he leads the way, she follows behind with Emma still in her arms. He can see Leroy give them a suspicious glance, but Leroy is suspicious of everything. (A useful skill after the end of the world. A bit of a mood-killer the rest of the time.)

The room he has claimed inside the town hall is the mayor's office. Regina would hate that, which is half the fun of having it. His boxes are stacked high, stored here until he gets the chance to spread them around and store some of them elsewhere. (Without his magic powers he has to find other ways to secure his possessions – people will come for them sooner or later.)

Mary Margaret draws a sharp breath when he pulls out the bow and its quiver with arrows and then a gun.

"You'll need them," he says quietly. "Albert Spencer is already playing king on his little hill. There will be others. Nothing makes leaders out of people quite as well as war, and make no mistake, this will be one sooner or later."

"Is that what you're doing? Becoming king of your own hill and arming your soldiers?" she asks boldly.

"No, dearie," he says completely honestly. "Heroics and leadership are so frightfully dull. I prefer less direct ways of steering."

She mulls that over, her fingers closing around the bow. He watches as she lifts it and the quiver up, still with Emma in the crook of her arm. Mother and warrior in one.

"It's David," she finally says. "You're trying to make David the king."

"I'm not trying," he says. He's not. He doesn't need to, after all. David stepped into it himself. With the coma and the lack of false memories from the curse, Charming seems to lurk just beneath the surface of David Nolan.

"And me?" she asks.

He bows his head slightly as he would to royalty. Her eyes widen as if she catches the implication. Yes. Yes. A Queen. A King. A kingdom after the end of the world. A Storybrooke castle.

And Princess Emma growing into her destiny.

"Mary Margaret?" David asks breathlessly from the door. She turns around sharply, still holding the bow and the baby both. David looks completely mesmerized, and Mary Margaret can't seem to look away either.

A curse and the end of the world can't kill true love, it seems. If anything can besides death, he sure hasn't found it.

Belle, he suddenly thinks painfully and sharply. Oh, Belle.

"David," Mary Margaret says and Rumpelstiltskin snaps himself out of it and focuses on his two royal subjects instead. "I'm sorry, I didn't want to wake you, but I didn't mean for you to wake up and see Emma gone and worry."

"It's fine," David reassures her as he walks closer. Rumpel notes with pleasure that the prince is in fact carrying the sword. "I knew you were taking care of her."

"Oh," Mary Margaret says. They look at each other, the longing so palpable that Rumpel is half tempted to ask them to just get it on already, on Regina's desk if necessary.

(Regina wouldn't enjoy that at all, so he rather thinks he would.)

"One of the patrols didn't come back last night," David says quietly. "Graham, Sean and I are going to the pharmacy to look for them."

"You think something has happened to them?" Mary Margaret asks, looking worried.

"Yeah," David admits. He glances over at Gold as well. "I imagine we might not be the only ones looking for medicines."

War, Rumpel thinks. Yes. It will come. Limited resources, people traumatized by so much death and yet so desperate for survival. Yes.

"I'm coming with you," Mary Margaret blurts out, seeming to surprise herself more than David. He simply smiles faintly, walking up to her.

"Emma needs you," he says softly.

"She needs you too," she protests and he looks down at Emma in her arms. He touches the baby's forehead almost reverently, then lifts his hand and cups Mary Margaret's cheek with the same reverence. The fact that Gold is there doesn't even seem to faze him. But then, Charming always was quite unafraid to show love, Rumpel remembers. Such bravery.

He envies that.

"You have a point there," David says after a moment. "I can't convince you to stay behind no matter what I say, can I?"

"No," she says and they both smile at each other. They look quite ready to kiss each other then and there, but David glances over at Gold again and then reluctantly steps away from her.

"You'll need this," Rumpel says, holding the gun out. David takes it, glancing at the bow in Mary Margaret's hand as well.

"Thank you," he says reluctantly. "I hope we won't have to use them."

With that, he and Mary Margaret walk out together, his arm so very carefully at her back. Rumpel watches them go before sitting down on Regina's desk and considering his options.

The curse isn't broken, which means he isn't sure if they can leave Storybrooke at all. Not that there would be much reason to. The post-apocalyptic grass isn't greener on the other side – it's probably just as covered by ash. So for however long it takes for Emma to break the curse (28 years, unless that is one part of the future he can change) they're stuck here and he won't be able to look for Bae.

He will have to help Snow and Charming create a kingdom here and he won't have magic to do it.

The part of him that is the Dark One chuckles at the challenge. The part of him that is a father longing for his boy just feels exhaustion.

Hmm. Age. That's another thing. The curse froze time for them, but does it still? It certainly didn't keep the end of the world out of Storybrooke, but perhaps it was never meant to.

He supposes they will find out sooner or later. None of them except Emma will age if it's true, since Emma wasn't affected by the curse at all.

Still, it won't hurt to make plans for either option. Contingencies. He hasn't plotted for three hundred years to not have back-up plans upon back-up plans.

He sighs, then puts on his Gold persona and walks out into the morning – only to almost stumble the moment he is outside and gets used to the light. Belle is sitting close by the entrance, watching the clouds and the smoke covering the sun.

"Hey," he says awkwardly. He's manipulated people for hundreds of years using words and yet he has no idea what to say to her.

"Hi," she replies, glancing up at him.

He debates walking away versus sitting down next to her, and ends on the compromise of standing a few feet away.

"Was I crazy?" she suddenly asks. Quite a brave question, he thinks, given how simple and straightforward it is.

"No," he says emphatically. Simple and straightforward in return, it's the least he can do for her.

She thinks about that and he watches the cuts and scratches along her arm. It's a reminder that she could easily have died and the thought of it makes him feel his age.

"You knew me," she says. Yes. He can't hide that, given the way he couldn't help but embrace her when he saw her. She was such a vision, such a ray of light in the darkness that he could hardly believe she was there.

"Yes," he agrees. "You weren't crazy. You made your own choices, Belle. You never let anyone decide for you. Some people fear that. They might even lock it away."

She mulls that over, but he can see she isn't entirely convinced.

"Do you fear that?" she asks.

"No," he says again.

She closes her eyes and he curses Regina silently – because he is quite sure it's Regina's doing that Belle was there, as well as the fact that Belle has no false curse memories. He isn't sure if that part is a good thing or not. Perhaps it would be easier for them both if she had a false life to cling to, if she didn't feel so much like Belle.

Or perhaps it would be just as hard or harder.

"I... I have some extra food stored away if you're ever hungry," he offers after a moment.

She shakes her head, and he knows that the Belle he remembers would probably have done the same and then insisted she would only accept food that was shared with everyone else.

"Anything else I can get you?" he tries, wanting to do something – anything - since he can't do what he longs for despite his increasing desire to.

"Books," she murmurs and he remembers Belle and the library in his castle. "All I can remember is what happened. It's all I know. I want... I want to read and fill my head with something else."

She closes her eyes and he can see the pain of her memories on her face. It almost staggers him as if it's his pain too.

"It's silly," she goes on.

"No," he says softly. "It's not. I know what it's like to want to forget."

Bae, he remembers. Bae's face as he let go.

"I might have some books," he says after a moment and her face lights up for a moment, like a glimmer of sun making it through thick clouds. "I have some clothes too you might be able to use. I have no use of them."

"I have nothing to offer you in return," she replies, looking at him doubtfully. "Leroy said you make deals."

"I do," he says, trying to think of a reasonable answer. A sudden idea pops into his head. "Read to me."

"What?"

"Read to me."

"That's what you want in return?" she asks softly and he nods.

"Yes," he says. "To help me forget."

She considers his proposal carefully, then nods. "It's a deal, Mr. Gold."

He nods too, keeping his face as carefully neutral as he can manage. "I have a few things to discuss with Mr. Nolan, but perhaps we can look for books and clothing for you later."

"Sure," she says, glancing over to where Ruby is approaching. "Ruby is going to fill me in so I can help out around the camp."

"I'll leave you to it," he says politely and walks off as calmly as he can manage. Only when he's well out of sight from her does he pause and draw a ragged breath.

He waits until he's perfectly composed again before going to find David, and ends up finding him by the truck. Not surprisingly, Mary Margaret is there too. She's strapped on her quiver and her bow, an echo of Snow White that would make him smile if he was at all inclined to show his true feelings. Sean and Graham are there as well, looking grim.

"Mr. Nolan," Rumpel says and David glances up at him. "I was wondering if I might ask you another favor."

David sighs, but sounds more tired than annoyed. "Yes?"

"If you should happen by the library on your way, perhaps you might secure some books for me. I know the building has collapsed on one side, but there should be plenty of books among the debris or in the half still standing."

"Books?" David echoes. He stares at Gold. "You want me to get books from the library?"

"Yes."

David blinks, then sighs again. "Right. Books. I'll see what I can do, Gold."

Rumpel bows his head lightly again, both genuinely and for show. Mary Margaret notices, Rumpel can tell, and she probably remembers their conversation earlier. He doesn't mind that she does. To protect her family (even if she doesn't remember that they are, she does feel it) she will accept his help even if she questions it.

"We better get going," David says. He holds out a hand to help Mary Margaret up on the back of the truck, and she takes it and doesn't let go. They're still holding hands as Sean drives the truck off, Rumpelstiltskin notes.

He waits until the truck is completely out of sight before he walks slowly down the street, then sharply turns a corner.

Jefferson is waiting there, looking twitchy.

"I got your 'present'," Rumpel opens with. "I found Belle at my shop."

Jefferson meets his gaze carefully. "I thought..."

"You thought seeing her again, I would fall to my knees in gratitude?" Rumpel mocks lightly. Belle would be disappointed in him over this, he knows. He did feel more gratitude than Jefferson could even imagine. He just can't afford to let it rule him. "I am grateful, dearie, but don't kid yourself. Our deal is far from done."

"How's Grace?" Jefferson breathes, a study in a father's desperation. Desperation. Always such a useful tool and motivator, Rumpel knows all too well. After all, it's driven him too.

"Your daughter is fine," Rumpel says, as if the topic bores him. "As I promised you she would be. How are things at Albert Spencer's hill?"

"It's not a hill," Jefferson says.

"Merely a figure of speech, dearie. What's he up to?"

"Trying to figure out what you're up to and if David Nolan is a threat," Jefferson says slowly. "He's managed to find a few weapons. They've found another uncontaminated water tank at the pet shelter but haven't retrieved it yet."

"So we may retrieve it before them," Rumpel says. "Don't worry, dearie. I'll make it look like we're simply looking for survivors. No one will know about our little spying arrangement."

Jefferson twitches again. "You promised me you would help her remember."

"Eventually," Rumpel says casually. "But you're not done being useful yet. What else?"

"Yesterday he sent a couple of guys to get what they could from the pharmacy," Jefferson says reluctantly. "They didn't return. He thinks it's your doing."

"The pharmacy?" Rumpel repeats. Well. That would explain a few things. "Is he sending another couple of guys to find out what happened?"

"No," Jefferson says. "He's got a couple of guys with him, but he's going himself this time."

Well, well, Rumpel thinks. David Nolan and Albert Spencer on a collision course even sooner than he anticipated. Only one way to deal with that.

Take advantage of it.

"I have a task for you, Jefferson," he says, and smiles unpleasantly.

Time to play a game of king of the hill – not all that different from chess, he's certain, and he's been playing that for centuries.


	4. When everything's made to be broken / I just want you, you know who I am

II

_Interlude: Leroy_

II

The end of the world can make any man drink. Fortunately, Leroy already is.

At first, he actually thinks it's just the alcohol. He's so drunk he's imagining the end of the world in all its fiery, doom-y, death-y horror, that has to be it. He'll sober up and the world will be back to normal, because nothing as terrible as this could truly happen.

But the alcohol loses its grip, and the apocalypse doesn't. The sky is still burning and the world keeps roaring with destruction. This is actually happening, he realizes. He is watching the world end, and hearing it and smelling it too.

He's not drunk enough for this, he decides. In fact, there is probably no such thing as drunk enough for this - but he can try.

II

_Chapter four: When everything's made to be broken / I just want you, you know who I am_

_Mary Margaret_

II

Mary Margaret hasn't seen this part of town since before the end of the world, and the change shakes her to the core.

Masts are fallen across building and streets like a game of dominoes played to horrible effect. A few fires are still raging, while other places only the embers and ashes remain. Cars are littered along the street, most of them wrecks. And above all, it smells of fire and ashes and death.

David squeezes her hand as he notices her expression, and she looks down at their linked hands. His fingers laced with hers feel so natural, as if they've held hands a million times before. She met him yesterday and yet touching him, holding hands with him and even kissing him makes it feel like she _knows_ him. Or at least her body does.

The truck finally pulls up, and she can see that a building has collapsed over the road and made any further driving impossible. She can also see the car parked just a few feet away and David tenses at once.

"It was the car they took," he says quietly. This time, it's she who squeezes his hand. His eyes soften in gratitude before he lets go and stands up. Moments later he has jumped off, and turns towards her with his arms out. She lets him lift her down, and her body hums with the familiarity of his body close to hers.

It's unnerving and thrilling at once, much like her discovery that she could breastfeed Emma. As happy as she is that she's able to feed the baby that she's starting to think of as theirs, it is still bothering her that she has no idea how.

"Looks like they never made it back to the car," Sean says, and the three men exchange worried glances. Graham pulls out his gun, and David rests his hand on the gun Gold gave him. She can feel her own fingers itch, and she fights the urge to pull out her bow.

David takes her hand again as they move into the debris, his palm warm against hers. They move carefully, almost edging forward rather than walking. As they move past half of a wall, Mary Margaret can finally see the Dark Star pharmacy. The windows are shattered, and the open sign has fallen to the pavement. One of the buildings next to it is slowly burning, while other looks relatively unharmed.

Graham looks tense as he moves closer, his gun held ready. In the distance, metal screeches against metal before a loud thump; another building collapsing, she supposes.

The door to the pharmacy is open, and they see why the moment they enter; those who entered never left, their bodies littering the floor. There is Mr. Clark first, buried underneath fallen shelves, dried blood around his head. An accidental death, by the looks of things.

The others are not. There is blood and signs of struggle, and two of the bodies still seemed locked together even in death. Mary Margaret draws a sharp breath as she takes it all in, then turns and buries her head against David's chest.

"Dammit," David says quietly, his voice tired and sad with just a hint of anger lurking behind it. He rubs her back (as much as the quiver and bow she has strapped on allows) softly however, and presses a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

"Michael and Walter," Graham says quietly, as if it's a eulogy. "Dammit!"

"Did they run into looters?" Sean asks, his voice shaky.

"I don't know the two others," Graham says, and Mary Margaret shifts to get another look at the bodies to see if she recognizes them. They don't look familiar, but it's hard to tell when one of them has deep burns on his face. "They might be."

"I think they were fighting over this," Sean says, holding up the large backpack. Mary Margaret guesses it's been filled with medicines and similar useful items. "I'll take it back to the truck."

David looks ready to protest, but then sighs and just nods. However ghoulish it is, what is in there may save lives, Mary Margaret knows, and it won't help the dead. The thought makes her shudder anyway, and she leans her head against David's chin and tries to fight back the tears.

"I'll check the back," Graham says tiredly. "Why don't you see if there is anything for Emma here? The others may not have thought of that."

"Right," David says. He kisses the top of her head again before reluctantly stepping away.

"Are we going to take the bodies back with us?" Mary Margaret asks, carefully moving around the pools of blood that makes her want to empty her stomach.

"We do sometimes," David says quietly. "But there are so many..."

He trails off, closing his eyes and clenching his jaw.

"Sometimes," he repeats, and she has to fight the urge to walk over and embrace him and just hold him. Instead, she focuses on lifting a fallen shelf and is rewarded with a welcome sight.

"Diapers," she says, and David looks up.

"Pacifier," he says in return, holding up a few items.

She nods at that, and they continue searching in silence until they've covered most of the floor. They do end up with a small load of diapers, pacifiers and children's medicine, as well as a couple of toys. Sean returns as well, telling them he's going to check next door, and David just wordlessly gives him the gun.

This is the world now, she thinks painfully.

"I'll find Graham and we'll see what we do about the bodies, why don't you take these to the truck?" David suggests to her and she nods. He helps her gather all the items in her arms, and then looks at her for a moment while tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and caressing her cheek with his thumb.

"What?" she asks self-consciously.

"I'm sorry you had to see this," he says.

"You didn't cause this," she says and he closes his eyes again. "David. This wasn't your fault."

He sighs, then leans forward and presses a lingering kiss against her forehead. "Thank you."

He steps away and heads towards the back and she watches him for a moment longer before walking outside. With her arms full, the journey back to the truck is full of near-trip disasters, but she makes it and gratefully dumps it all into the back of the truck where the backpack already sits.

She takes a moment to just lean against the truck and breathe, steadying herself. Even with what she's seen today, she doesn't regret insisting that she would come along. Somehow, the thought of David seeing all this without her there feels worse.

When she has composed herself, she starts on her way back. She has just turned the fallen wall when she halts abruptly, her mind screaming at her that something is terribly, terribly wrong.

It takes her a moment to realize why. There is a new car at the other end of the street. A parked car.

Someone else is here.

She whips the bow out, and her fingers seem to know what to on their own because she has an arrow ready in seconds. With that, she moves forward while crouching down as fast as she can manage.

Peeking inside, the scene before her makes her hot and cold at once.

There are three men, one older and two younger. The older one has a rifle pointed at David, who is on the floor. Graham is standing a few feet away, his gun on the floor in front of him, while Sean is lying at the feet of one of the younger men.

All but one body has been moved, so she guesses that's what her friends have been doing – and were probably surprised.

"Kick it here, or your friend dies," the older man says. His voice makes something in her almost hiss. No. David isn't dying. No. Emma needs him, and she, she cares about him, she... She wants him, she thinks, the first time she's articulated it so clearly to herself.

So she doesn't think. She lets the arrow fly. It buries itself in the right shoulder of the older man, just as she aimed for. He grunts, falling forward to his knees and dropping his rifle. David lunges for it, while the two younger guys turn around in confusion.

She already has another arrow ready.

"Want to risk it?" she says to them with a bravado that she doesn't know the source of, but it isn't put on. She is certain she could take both down. She just doesn't know where that certainty comes from. "Step away from my... David."

The two hesitate, which is enough. David has managed to get his hands on the rifle, and Graham has picked up his gun.

"Let it go, Spencer," Graham says. Oh. Albert Spencer. She remembers his name being mentioned as the leader of another group of survivors.

"This isn't yours to take," Spencer replies.

"We're willing to share half with your group," David replies, leaning down by Sean. Sean makes a faint noise, so he is alive. She lets out a soft sigh of relief. "We can split the resources, we can..."

"Half? Share? I take what I want, _boy_. This is a new world," Spencer replies angrily.

"That doesn't make it yours," David counters angrily and the two glare at each other.

"You think it's yours, boy? That you're going to be the shepherd of your little group of sheep? You were just saved by a girl," Spencer says scornfully, turning to look at her while clutching his shoulder in obvious pain.

"Woman," she corrects automatically, and she can feel David's eyes on her, caressing her with his gaze.

"You don't know who you're dealing with, _girl_ ," Spencer counters, and she meets his gaze evenly.

"I know exactly who you are," she says, thinking of school and pupils and children. "You're the bully. And I'm with him all the way no matter whom I have to deal with."

Spencer looks ready to murder her if he could, but he says nothing.

Sean groans again, and David eases one arm around the other hand and hauls him to his feet. Graham steps up on the other side, allowing both to hold on to their weapons while hoisting Sean between them.

Mary Margaret keeps her bow on the two younger men, ready if they try anything, but neither of them move as Graham and David manage to get Sean to the door.

"Don't follow us," Mary Margaret warns.

"This isn't over," Spencer warns her.

"It can be," David says softly, and the two men look at each other again. Whatever David sees in the other man's face, it makes him sigh.

She waits until David and Graham have moved Sean further outside before she follows them by carefully stepping backwards and keeping her arrow ready to fly. They're not followed, though, and as they walk Sean starts regaining his senses and even manages to walk the last part himself. Eventually, they make it back to the truck without incident.

The men help a still groggy Sean up on the truck, and then David jumps down as she lowers her bow. Before she can say anything, he takes two hurried steps towards her and crashes his lips onto hers.

The bow and arrow clatter to the ground, and she links her arms around his neck to press him even closer. It's a hard, almost desperate kiss, all their adrenaline now fuelling something else entirely.

"I'll drive," Graham says, and Mary Margaret is pretty sure the sheriff is averting his eyes. She has no breath to apologize for the spectacle they must be making and isn't even sure if she wants to.

David lifts her up, taking the opportunity to kiss her at a different angle before sitting her down at the bed of the truck. His lips linger against hers for a moment longer, then he reluctantly breaks it off, picks up her bow and arrow and climbs up himself. They sit down by Sean, who is looking at her with far more respect than she can remember from before. (Not that he was disrespectful in any way. None of them have been.) A moment later Graham drives off.

David takes her hand again, his thumb making slow caresses. She closes her eyes and exhales, feeling some of the tension finally letting go.

"Was archery one of your classes?" David asks.

"No," she says, opening her eyes again. "I don't know where that came from."

"You're full of surprises," David remarks softly. She glances up at him, noticing the new bruise along his jawline. Maybe she should have buried an arrow in Albert Spencer's other shoulder as well. "I like it."

Sean makes an amused noises, then touches the back of his head and groans. "Bastards."

"What happened?" she asks softly.

"We decided to move the bodies next door – let the fire claim them. A sort of cremation," David says. "We were just going back for the last one when they walked in on us. I think they drove in from the other direction, that's why we didn't see them."

She nods. She suspected it was something like that. It makes her realize she could very well have walked in to find their corpses, and the thought makes her want to scream.

"You saved us," David goes on, and Sean nods.

"I wasn't going to let you die," she says fiercely. David smiles faintly at that, lifting their linked hands to his lips and kissing her knuckles.

"I know," he says simply, and she thinks he might actually.

II

Despite the day's events and their muted mood, they still stop at the library on the way back. Might as well, after all, and it will spare them a trip in the future. (And they might need Gold's favors, a part of Mary Margaret is starting to realize, after what happened today.)

The library doesn't look like much of a library, Mary Margaret has to admit. It looks like someone has cut through it with a knife, deep gashes and scars through the building. It smells of ashes, but isn't burning, so she and David step inside while Graham takes the opportunity to check out the building next door and Sean stands guard by the truck.

Bookshelves have fallen over inside, books littered everywhere. David regards the mess dubiously, while Mary Margaret feels another stab to her heart. So many books. She knows it's not a priority when the world has ended, yet it still makes her feel sad to see books as part of the ruins.

"You like reading?" David asks and she glances up to see him look at her with gentle eyes, as if he's picked up on her sadness.

"Yeah," she says. "I was just rereading Anna Karenina before..."

She trails off, and he steps closer, touching her arm lightly as if in comfort. But his hand lingers, and the comfort simply becomes a touch.

"Gold didn't say what kind of books he wanted," David says. "I guess we can just pick out whatever we find that is still readable."

"Yeah," she agrees, but neither of them move. They simply look at each other, and the heat in David's gaze makes Mary Margaret's cheeks blaze.

"Mary Margaret, what you did today..." he begins, clearly trying to find the words, yet she can see how much it meant to him just by his expression. She doesn't need the words. So she pushes herself up on her toes and kisses him; a wordless expression of why she did what she did today.

His lips meet hers eagerly, catching her bottom lip between his and brushing his tongue along it. His arms go around her, pressing her closer as she tilts her head and her lips part against his.

He lifts her up, walking a few steps to press her against a wall as she hooks her legs around his waist. He kisses her thoroughly and leisurely, and she laces her fingers in his hair and feels breathless.

Her lips are swollen by the time he eases her back down her feet, nibbling lightly at her lips before breaking the kiss. They're both breathing hard as they press their foreheads together and just stand still for a moment, and she runs her hands down his chest and feels it rise and fall under her palm.

"Let's find some books," he says, his voice husky. She nods, leaning forward to kiss him lightly before stepping away.

They work in silence, finding a couple of empty boxes and then filling one each. It's an odd assortment of books that Mary Margaret end up with, an illustrated history book about the Vikings mixed with romance novels and Beatles biographies and two Miss Marple and a collections of short stories, and several others. David probably has a similarly mixed collection, but she does notice him tucking a few books away from the rest.

Sean is still clutching the rifle and watching the street as they walk outside. A few minutes later Graham exits the building next door, carrying a tool box and a bag.

"No one alive left inside," he says shortly. "Found some food and tools."

David nods, not pressing for details. As Graham passes her, Mary Margaret squeezes his arm in comfort and she can see him close his eyes and look infinitely sad for a moment. For Walter and Michael too, she's sure. For everyone.

They've all been numbed by too many deaths, she thinks, but they're not immune.

II

Back at the camp, Gold and Leroy are waiting for them. Ruby hurries over the moment she sees them as well, bringing with her the survivor they found the day before, Dr. Whale. A doctor in the camp will be quite handy, and they have him take a look at Sean's head first of all.

Gold smiles faintly and almost knowingly when he sees them, and Mary Margaret isn't sure what she thinks of that.

After the truck has been unloaded and the sad news about Michael and Walter (and Tom Clarke) delivered, David looks at Mary Margaret and she knows what he's thinking without him needing to say a single word.

Emma.

Linking hands, they walk inside to find their baby.

They find Emma resting in her crib. The sight is enough to make David smile despite everything, and he hurries over to lift her up. Granny smiles at that, then slips out of the room to leave them alone.

"Emma," he says softly, pressing a lingering kiss to Emma's forehead and rocking her gently in his arms. She makes a noise that might be happy and he smiles.

"I think she might be hungry," Mary Margaret says as Emma continues making noises.

"Oh," he says. He glances at her. "I can leave the room."

"No," she says, feeling the slight heat in her cheeks but continuing anyway. "Stay."

Wordlessly, he eases Emma into her arms. He watches as she sits down on the cot and then pulls her sweater up enough to allow Emma access to her breast. After a moment, he sits down next to her and gently caresses Emma's head while the baby feeds.

Mary Margaret leans her head against his shoulder, drinking in his and Emma's nearness. It's almost enough to drown out everything else. Almost.

"I'm sorry about your friends," she says.

He closes his eyes. "I hadn't known them that long, but... Yeah. I'm sorry too. About all of this. It's all so wrong."

His hand has moved around her back to rest on her hip, stroking her skin lightly. If he's even aware he's doing it, she isn't sure.

"This feels so right," he murmurs after a moment. "You and me and her. Everything else is so..."

"I know," she whispers back. Emma is clearly finished feeding and she shifts the baby in her arms, but it's David who gently pulls her sweater down without comment.

She holds Emma for a few minutes longer, and then David does; and it feels so very much like a family and _their_ baby. It nearly makes Mary Margaret choke up, and David kisses her temple as if he knows.

"Graham and I have a few things to do and discuss," he says reluctantly.

"I'll see if Ruby or Granny or Leroy needs help with anything," she says.

He nods, then eases Emma back into her arms before kissing her briefly but tenderly.

"I'll see you later," he says, then kisses Emma's head. "And you."

They walk outside together, exchanging a long look before he walks briskly away. She waits until he's out of sight until she starts walking. She is going to see if Ruby or anyone else need a hand, but first she's going to see someone else.

Gold is waiting in his office, and she can tell he's expecting her.

He told her war was coming. He may have been right, and she can't risk David and Emma on a bet that he is wrong. The stakes are too high.

"Had a bit of an adventure today, dearie?" he asks. "Saved the day, I heard. Sadly, there are many days yet to come for your charming little family."

"I need to protect them," she says, lifting her head slightly. Gold meets her gaze, and she thinks she might see a flicker of genuine respect in his eyes. Or perhaps he simply wants her to think it genuine.

"You can," Gold says. "You and David establish your small kingdom and allow me to help you in my modest way, and you will live to see Emma grow up into a charming young woman. I can promise you that."

Mary Margaret swallows slightly at that, the image of the small baby in her arms becoming a woman almost staggering.

"All you have to do is let me do what I do," Gold goes on. "You can be your heroic noble selves and I can be... Not."

"Why didn't you join Albert Spencer's group?" she asks. "Wouldn't he be easier to make the sort of king of the hill you seem to want?"

Gold smiles. "I prefer the noble heroic types. Frightfully annoying to deal with, but much less likely to double-crossing."

That's not the whole answer, she is certain, but she is equally certain he isn't willing to share the full story. And yet, she does trust him in a strange way.

"I'm sure David looks forward to annoying you frightfully," she says and Gold smiles as she walks towards the door. "As do I."

With that, she exits.

II

She's already fallen asleep by the time David enters their 'bedroom', and she wakes to the sound of him trying to quietly get to bed without waking her. She smiles at that, then props herself up on her elbows. Emma is still sleeping, oblivious to the world.

"Hey," Mary Margaret says softly.

"Hi," he murmurs sheepishly. "Sorry, I was trying to..."

"It's fine," she assures him, and he sits down on the mattress and looks dead on his feet. "Is it late?"

"Yeah," he admits. "We erected some new barricades in case Spencer decides to go after us directly. I hope he'll let it go, but..."

"You can't bet on it when the stakes are so high," she says and he nods tiredly. She notices the small pile of books he's put by the mattress. "Didn't you give the books to Gold?"

"Oh," he says, glancing down at them. "I did, I just kept three of them."

He holds up the three, and she sees that one is a picture book for toddlers, another is a children's book for older children and the third is Anna Karenina.

"I thought... For Emma. When she grows older. We could read to her," he says and she isn't sure what makes her breath catch the most – the use of 'we' in connection to the future or the image of him reading to Emma.

She reaches down and cups his head in her hands and kisses him so very softly, brushing her lips against his upper and then lower lip before tugging lightly. He leans into it, sighing happily into the kiss. Even so, she's quite aware that he is exhausted and needs his sleep.

"You don't have to sleep on the floor," she says as he kisses her cheeks and then her nose.

"I'm not letting you sleep on the floor," he points out sternly, biting her nose very lightly as if for emphasis.

"I know," she agrees. "I meant... We can sleep on this cot. Both of us. Together."

His eyes widen and his lips part, and she can't resist the urge to brush her lips against them again.

"Just to sleep," she whispers against his lips. "For now."

"For now," he agrees, an unspoken promise that one day – maybe even one day soon – there will be more. He kisses her softly, another unspoken promise, then moves around and slips under the blanket from the other side. The cot isn't exactly roomy, but she doesn't mind his body pressed against hers. She moves to lie on her side as he does the same, and they link hands and press their foreheads together.

They fall asleep like that, curled up together with Emma just a few feet away; one very right thing in a world of wrong.


	5. The richest man in what remains of the world

II

_Interlude: Ruby_

II

Ruby has always dreamed of the world, refusing to think that Storybrooke was it. She has always wanted to travel, to escape, to see something beyond the tight frames of her life. 

A dream, her dream. 

It dies as the world does, and she can only watch. Can only watch as Granny clings to her and the sky burns. It is silent at first, a brilliant bright destruction in complete eerie silence. 

They’re going to die, Ruby thinks. In that moment, she even accepts it. It seems so impossible that anyone can survive anything like this, that there can be something after. 

“I love you, Granny,” she whispers. 

“You’re not dying on me,” Granny replies, a promise and a threat both. She presses Ruby closer as the wave of destruction comes at them with a roar. 

The dream dies. But Ruby lives, with nowhere left to go. 

II

_Chapter five: The richest man in what remains of the world_

_David_

II

Even the end of the world can become routine, David finds. At least that's what he's starting to develop as the days and weeks pass: a routine. 

He wakes up with Mary Margaret, always caressing her face with his gaze as the first thing he does every morning. Like him, she doesn't always sleep peacefully, and there are mornings he can almost see the nightmares on her face. 

He always ends up touching her face sooner or later, trying to ease away her pain with his touches. Sooner or later her lips curve into a faint smile, and he knows she's awake. He kisses her then, slowly and lazily with his eyes half closed. How long it lasts always varies, but sooner or later Emma cries and Mary Margaret smiles softly against his lips before getting up. 

Watching her breastfeed Emma has become routine too, but never dull. He loves watching the way Mary Margaret cradles (what he now dares think of as) their daughter and listen to the noises Emma makes. He still offers to leave every time, though not always with words. But he always waits for her shy inviting smile before he sits next to her and rests his head against hers and they watch Emma together. 

They kiss sometimes then too, soft pecks and nose rubs in joint happiness over the little life they're now (so very much) caring for. Somehow, despite not having any memories of his previous life, he just knows this is all he could have wanted in life. It's a family, his family. 

He's still the one to change Emma’s diapers in the morning, something he doesn't exactly enjoy in itself, but something he enjoys for the feeling of doing something for her. It feels like something a father should do, and he's doing it. 

And then, then he just holds her in his arms. Every morning without fail, it’s like this, him and Emma and a moment together. 

II

“Emma,” David says, and the baby looks up at him. “That's right, that's you. Em-ma. The best name in the whole world – apart from David and Mary Margaret, they're equally best.”

Behind him, he can hear Mary Margaret's soft chuckle of amusement, but she doesn't comment or join in. It's as if she wants him to have time with just him and Emma, that it matters to her that Emma is as much his as she is Mary Margaret's. 

“I'm David,” he says. “Da-vid. And that's Mary Margaret. Mary Mar-ga-ret. She's just as beautiful as you, but don't tell her I said that.”

Emma coos as if she agrees.

“We have two even more awesome names,” he goes on, as Emma's fingers close around one of his fingers. They're so small, he marvels. So tiny compared to his. “That's right, we have secret names only you will be allowed to call us.”

He leans forward and kisses Emma's forehead, feeling the tiny wisps of hair against his lips. 

“It's mom and dad,” he whispers, and he can hear Mary Margaret draw a sharp breath. “Only you can call us that in the world wide world, Emma. Isn't that awesome? And I'll tell you another secret – you can call us that your whole life. We'll always be your parents.”

He stands up, walking over to Mary Margaret with Emma in his arms. Mary Margaret is crying, he notices, tears clinging to her eyelashes, but she smiles through them. 

“So I'm David and dad, and this is Mary Margaret and mom,” he says, and Mary Margaret clutches his arm and swallows. 

“You forgot another secret name,” she says. “Emma, sometimes mom and dad will call you daughter. And we'll be the only people in the world allowed to call you that.”

“Daughter,” David says, his voice sounding choked up even to him. Yes. David and dad, Mary Margaret and mom, Emma and daughter, all the names that matter. 

II

When all the morning chores are done, they always put Emma in the sling Granny and Belle have made for Mary Margaret to carry the baby, and then link hands and walk out together to have breakfast with the others. 

He still notices that they get a few looks most mornings. Gold always watches, a half-hidden smile as if he finds something secretly amusing or pleasing. Others throw more discreet glances, probably wondering just what the story is. It's quite a tale, after all, the one about the schoolteacher and the coma patient and a baby, and the family they're making together. Not quite a fairy tale perhaps, but those are in short supply these days. 

This is a world with no happy endings, after all, just a world's ending instead.

After breakfast, there are always a million things to do. There are patrols to organize, salvage teams to send out (always armed now, after the incident with Spencer's men), items to be repaired or broken into parts they can use, cooking, cleaning, looking after the wounded they've found, the occasional burial and a million other things to deal with.

Mary Margaret is very good at organizing, he quickly discovers. Perhaps not surprising, since she is a teacher, but sometimes he thinks he sees glimpses of something else too. Graham starts going to her as much as to David, and David himself also goes to her. Even Gold does, and David wonders at that. 

He wonders at himself too. Whenever something happens or needs to be decided, they all come to him or Mary Margaret. That's the strange thing. Sean bristles at it, Leroy is never gracious about it, but they do come to him or Mary Margaret. He’s the amnesiac coma patient, and yet they come to him. 

II

“Why are you doing this?” David asks, and Graham pauses at the door. “You're the sheriff. People would respect that. You don't need me.”

“You would respect that,” Graham agrees. “Plenty of others wouldn't. Albert Spencer doesn't.”

“Albert Spencer doesn't respect anything but power,” David says darkly.

“And you think you don't command power?” Graham asks, raising an eyebrow. “You don't know yourself very well then.”

“And you do?” David asks. “You told me that you had no idea who I was before.”

“You're right, I don't know who you were before,” Graham says. “I know who you are now. You're the guy who saves and adopts a baby right out of a coma. You're the guy who steps up. You're the guy who helps. You're the guy even Gold has respect for. You're the guy Mary Margaret Blanchard shoots the former district attorney in the shoulder with an arrow for.”

David smiles sheepishly at that, remembering the sight of Mary Margaret with her bow and arrow, looking like some sort of long-lost archery princess in schoolteacher clothes. 

It was one of the most attractive things he's seen in his life. (Of course, given the whole lost memories thing, he can't remember all that many, but still. In his limited list of attractive things he can remember, all points involving Mary Margaret in some way, that one is very high up.)

“You might be a man without memories, but you know who you are,” Graham goes on. “I'm the sheriff. I enforce the law. I don't make it. And between you and Albert Spencer, I choose your law.” 

“I don't...” David starts, trailing off. 

“The sheriff is right,” Gold says, stepping into the room. “You command power, Mr. Nolan. You can't help yourself. It just... Charms its way out of you. You could have been born a shepherd and would still have been destined to be a prince. The sheriff is right. You step up.”

David sighs, rubbing his forehead. “So what, I'm supposed to rule on the basis of what? Your recommendation?”

“Oh no,” Gold says cheerfully. “You and I will disagree and you will go against me. That will just command more respect among the others. Don't worry. I won't take it too personally. But you will lead, Mr. Nolan. You and your fair Miss Blanchard. You won't be able to help yourselves.”

With that, Gold steps out again, while Graham remains. 

“He's right, much as I dislike him,” Graham says frankly, and they can hear Gold's chuckle in the distance. “You're a leader, David.”

David sighs, then bends his neck slightly as if in defeat. On some level, he knows Graham is at least partially right. He can't help but step up. He doesn't even know why, except it's partly just himself. The other part is the way Mary Margaret looks at him and holds his hand and steps up right with him. 

II

Mary Margaret always comes to him with lunch when he's not out on a patrol or a salvage operation. He always looks forward to that. Not for the food, he can go hungry if he has to, but he finds himself starving for her company when he hasn't seen her for a while.

The sight of her always makes him smile. Usually he walks over and takes her hands, leaning his forehead against hers while whispering how much he's missed her. Other times, especially when he's tired or emotional, she sits on his lap and cradles his face and kisses his temple until he feels alive again. And sometimes when no one else is around, he greets her by picking her up and kissing her, her lips soft and yielding against his.

II

“David,” she says, and he swings her around and kisses her again. “David, the food!”

“You're far more delicious,” he says teasingly, and she blushes and smacks her hand against his chest. “You are.”

To prove it, he kisses her again, and again, tasting her lips with soft nibbles. She moans softly, a delicious sound he swallows as she parts her lips and he deepens the kiss. They kiss, and kiss, and probably cross well past the border of making out before he reluctantly pulls away. 

She wraps her arms around his neck as he slowly lowers her back on her feet, giving him an attempt at a stern look.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly.

“You should be,” she says teasingly. “You didn't even give me the chance to say hello.”

“You're right,” he agrees, tucking a few strands of her hair behind her ear. “Hello, Mary Margaret.”

“Hello, David,” she says seriously, then laughs as he picks her up again and kisses her; not letting her down for a long, long time.

II

Everyone seem to be finding their roles in their small community as time passes. Ruby and Granny are organizing and looking after the food. Sean deals with patrols and guards, while Leroy and his growing group of boys deal with salvaging anything useful. 

Dr. Whale deals with the wounded and the dying – at least when he's not drinking with Leroy or quietly watching Ruby (and at first Mary Margaret, but a few stern glances from David ended that habit rather quickly). 

Belle spends her days looking after Ava and Nicholas, quite often reading to them (at least David now completely understands why Gold sent him out to get books) or teaching them to cook together with Ruby. Granny helps out too sometimes, but the persistent cough she's developed is worrying David. Dr. Whale can only do so much, though he does try, for which Ruby seems grateful. 

And every day without fail, David finds time to sit down with Belle. They talk sometimes, but there also days where they just sit in the silence and that's all right too. It's still nice to have someone there, someone who's suffered the same loss and knows what it's like without memories.

Gold often hovers in the area, but never interrupts. It's a strange thing to see a man so sure in his own power so unsure in the grip of an obvious attraction. 

II

“How does it work?” Belle asks him one morning, and he glances over at her. “You and Mary Margaret, I mean.”

“Me and Mary Margaret?” he repeats.

“Yes,” she says. “You and Mary Margaret.”

“Are you asking... Dating advice?” he says. She blushes slightly, but doesn't look away. 

“It just works,” he says after a moment. “She feels... She feels right.”

“Even if you don't remember?”

“Even if I don't remember,” he says. “I lost my memories, not my heart.” 

Belle glances over at Gold, who meets her gaze and softens. Just for a moment, but in that moment Gold looks so vulnerable that David is taken aback. It’s quite touching too, that Gold has a heart even if he hides it well. 

“Everyone is afraid of him,” Belle says quietly, as Gold averts his eyes. “Even you, though you hide it better than most. I'm not. I don't understand why.”

“I don't understand why I'm so drawn to Mary Margaret,” he admits, choosing to ignore the part about being afraid of Gold. He isn't really. He's just afraid of what Gold might do sometimes. “I just know I am.”

“So you two are...?” Belle asks curiously, but without judgement. 

“We're...” He trails off, trying out different words in his head. Friends, yes, but that only describes a part of it. Lovers, not yet. Dating, sounds far too casual for what they have. Boyfriend and girlfriend, yes, but that makes him feel as if they're teenagers. In love, yes oh yes, but he isn't sure he wants to voice that aloud to Belle before Mary Margaret. 

_Family_ , his mind screams at him. 

“Family,” he says, feeling dizzy. “We're family.”

“How do you know you didn't have one already?” Belle asks after a moment. 

He shrugs. “I don't, really. I wasn't wearing a wedding ring and no one has recognized me so far, but I don't know for sure. I just... I just know that whatever I felt in the past, what I feel right now is true.” 

“True love,” Belle says, but without any jealousy, just a touch of longing. “I guess if it was easy, we'd all have it.”

“I wouldn't count you out yet,” he says, as he sees Gold unable to help himself and glance over at Belle again. Belle looks up, and this time, Gold doesn't look away.

“Maybe,” she says, but her eyes are bright and brave. 

II

As the weeks pass, they begin to discover that survival isn't enough. It's a start, but they all want something more. Something to hold on to. Something to live for.

Belle reads to Gold. Whale watches Ruby. Granny watches Ruby with a (grand)mother's loving gaze. Sean watches the picture of his ex-girlfriend he has in his wallet. Graham hunts for survivors with a quiet determination, as if his heart is lost to saving others. Leroy nurses his bottles as if they can nurse him right back to health. 

They all want something. 

What he wants exactly, David isn't sure, only that it involves Emma and Mary Margaret. That, there is no doubt about. No doubt at all. 

At the end of each day, that's exactly what he has. Hands linked, he and Mary Margaret take Emma and walk into their little room and it's just them – a little family all to themselves. He lives for the evenings and for the peace he finds there.

He's started to build things for their place now, stuff he salvages from buildings or make out of parts from what they've salvaged. A small bookshelf for the three lonely books they have. A tiny stuffed toy. A better crib. Another blanket for their bed, which he extends to give them more space. (They sleep all curled together in any case, but still.) He thinks about carving toys for Emma, or a mobile over her crib.

He even thinks about building them a house somewhere, just for the three of them. A timber house. Perhaps as part of a farm, or in the forest where they might hunt and find food. There are several options. 

But all of them include making a life with Mary Margaret and Emma. 

He's head over heels, he knows, and twice over at that. 

If Emma is in the mood in the evening and isn't too tired, they play with her. He's begun to learn the noises she makes when she's happy, and the noises she makes when she's sad or hungry. It's a language, just without words, so he's fairly certainly he will be fluent in Emma-ish before long. 

Other days they just hold her, and that is a sort of quiet joy that threatens to choke him sometimes. It seems all the more potent when framed by all the sadness around them. He can live through the end of the world. He's not sure he could live through losing them. 

II

Emma in his arms and Mary Margaret pressed against his side; David can't think of anything that makes him happier than these moments. 

Emma makes happy noises as she curls her fingers around one of Mary Margaret's too, as if she agrees with him. 

“I think she'll have you chin,” he tells Mary Margaret, as he runs a finger down Emma's cheek. Emma makes a happy noise at that, kicking slightly in his arms.

Mary Margaret gives him a look that is half pointed and half wistful, but she does lean closer to Emma as if to look. 

“See?” he says softly.

“I think she has more of your forehead,” she counters and as Emma furrows her brow, he purposely does the same. It makes Mary Margaret grin, so he steals a kiss while her lips are still turned upwards. The thought that he might give her moments to smile and moments to feel happy makes him happy too. 

“She's beautiful just as she is, whoever's chin or forehead she has,” he says after a moment. 

“Why do you think anyone would give her up?” Mary Margaret asks softly.

“I don't know,” he says. “I hope it was to give her her best chance. I can't imagine giving her up for anything else.”

She kisses his shoulder, then leans her head against it. 

“I hope we can give her just that. For their sake too,” he says. “It must have broken their hearts giving her up.”

She sighs, closing her eyes for a moment. “What do we have to offer her, David? We don't even have a world left to raise her in.”

“So we make a new world,” he says. “We have already started. Have faith.”

“In you?” she asks, and he shakes his head slightly. 

“In _us_ ,” he stresses. “You and me. Graham. Ruby. Belle. Gold. Sean. Leroy. Whale. All the others we've found or who have found us. In Emma.”

Despite everything, he wants to believe that something better is possible. That they can be together. That they can raise Emma. That they can be a family, a family that found each other even after the end of the world. 

“I want to,” she admits. 

“I want you to too,” he says and their hands link on top of Emma's blanket and hold.

II

Every night after she's fed Emma, Mary Margaret crawls under the blankets with him and they hold each other. They kiss; sometimes slowly and leisurely, sometimes as a sort of comfort for too much hurt, sometimes with a barely restrained passion that won't stay restrained forever, sometimes with such affection and love it's as if they've been married for years. 

They don't go beyond that. Not yet. That yet is getting closer and closer, though, he knows that from the way she touches him and he kisses her, but somehow he doesn't want their first time to be rushed and quiet under the blankets with Emma just a few feet away. 

So they simply sleep together, sometimes facing each other and sometimes on their sides with her wrapped in his arms and resting her back against his chest. Either way, they fit each other, in sleep as in everything else. 

And when he wakes from a nightmare or she does, the other is always there to offer comfort and reassurances. 

II

“Tell me about it,” he says, kissing her eyelids before she opens her eyes to look at him. The nightmare is still haunting her eyes, and he wishes he could drive it away to never return. 

“I was crying,” she says quietly. “You were there. Emma was gone. There was blood, so much blood. I couldn't wake you.”

“I'm here,” he murmurs, kissing the tears lining her cheeks. “I’m here, Mary Margaret.”

“You're here,” she repeats, digging her fingers into the cloth of his t-shirt. “Emma, is she...”

“Emma is fine,” he assures her, lifting his gaze above her. “She's sleeping. She's probably dreaming about slaying dragons and saving the day.”

Mary Margaret smiles faintly. “Not dressing up as a princess and dancing, then?”

He shrugs. “She can dream about both.”

“How very gracious of you to allow your daughter to not just be a daddy's girl,” she jokes. He smiles, kissing her lips until he feels them turn upwards in a soft smile. 

“She'll be a mommy's girl too, just you wait,” he says firmly. 

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

She touches his cheek tenderly, looking at him with a strange mix of sadness and affection. 

“David,” she says, biting her lip as if she wants to say more. Instead, she leans forward and kisses him. He kisses her back eagerly, determined to reassure her in any way he can. She lifts one foot to rest across his hip and pull herself even closer to him, and he puts a hand on her back to press her more firmly against him.

They kiss; kiss and kiss, drinking each other in until they're both breathless and flushed and pull apart slightly just to breathe.

“Do you ever think about it?” she asks, as she rests her forehead against his. “Your previous life?”

“Nothing to think about,” he says quietly. “Whoever I was in that life... He's gone. That life is gone.”

“What's that like?” she whispers, looking at him as he draws his fingers across her cheek. 

“It's like I woke up in some strange land,” he admits, and her eyes are bright with pain for him. “I don't remember before at all. Not even flashes. It's all blank.”

“That sounds lonely,” she says sadly. 

“No,” he says simply, smiling faintly. “I have you. I have Emma. I'm the richest man in what remains of the world.”

She blushes, then lifts her hand to his cheek also. Gently, she leans forward and kisses him and David doesn't care about the memories he's lost. He cares only about the ones he's making.


	6. Love like it's the end of the world (it is)

II 

_Interlude: David_

II

The cries wake him.

The end of the world itself doesn't; he sleeps through that. He only wakes later, in the terrible, terrible silence that is only broken by one thing. 

There is a baby crying. 

He doesn't think; he just moves. He gets up, his legs almost giving in underneath him, forcing him to hold on to the bed. He glances down to see a name scribbled on the clipboard attached to the bed. David Nolan. He can't remember being David Nolan. He can't remember anything. 

The baby wails, and his will overrules his body and he walks and follows the sound as if by instinct. He has to. He isn't sure why, he just knows he has to find this child. He has no idea where this trail of destruction started, but broken glass and the occasional dead body litters the floor.

The baby is still wailing as he steps into the room, almost falling. His shoulder aches terribly, and his head is pounding. But all of that fades as he leans down and looks at the baby.

Emma, a name stitched along the wool cloth she is wrapped in tells him. Emma. He feels breathless and his head light as he picks her up, and she quiets right away. It is as if she's been waiting for him.

She's beautiful, and settles into his arms as if she belongs there. The weight feels almost familiar, as if his body remembers something his mind does not. 

“Hey Emma,” he says quietly, feeling as if she's stolen his heart like a baby bandit. “I found you.”

At the end of the world, David wakes up to find his daughter, and is caught. 

II

_Chapter six: Love like it's the end of the world (it is)_

_Mary Margaret_

II

Sometimes, Mary Margaret reckons, David Nolan is an utter idiot. An utter idiot she cares so much for it staggers her sometimes, but nevertheless an idiot. Which probably makes her an idiot for falling for him too, making them the two idiots.

“He's out collecting _firewood_?” she repeats, and Graham rubs his neck and looks sheepish. “There's a storm coming!”

Around them, people are preparing for just that, getting all vital supplies inside the town hall and covering up what they can. The threatening clouds seem to have appeared out of nowhere, conquering the sky violently and angrily. 

“There wasn't one this morning when he went out,” Graham offers as a defence on David's behalf. “We don't exactly get weather forecasts these days and the weather has been... Unpredictable lately.”

That's putting it mildly, Mary Margaret knows. Black rain one day, burning sun another. And the winter ahead of them she doesn't even want to think about.

“And it wasn't just firewood,” Graham continues. “He was going to find wood for... He was going to carve some toys for Emma, Mary Margaret. It was going to be a surprise.”

“Oh,” Mary Margaret says, feeling some of her anger getting overwhelmed by a surge of tenderness. Oh. Of course the idiot would do that. 

“And Gold told him he had a cabin up in the forest. I think he wanted something retrieved from there,” Graham adds.

Mary Margaret just sighs. Of course Gold would be involved too.

“Get the truck,” she orders Graham. “I'm going to ask Ruby to look after Emma, then we'll find David and get him back before the storm hits.”

“I can help look after Emma,” a voice behind them says, and Mary Margaret turns to see Belle there with Gold in tow. “I would be happy to.”

The eagerness on Belle's face makes Mary Margaret soften. She knows Belle and David are friendly, but she also knows that Belle is searching for something to define herself by since she has no memories. David has already found that in Emma (and herself, Mary Margaret almost dares to think).

“Thanks, Belle. I would appreciate that,” she replies, then shifts her attention to Gold. “What exactly is David trying to retrieve for you?”

“A cup and a shawl,” Gold says and Graham raises an eyebrow. “I appear to have left them at my cabin before I realized their true value.”

“Which is?” 

“They has sentimental value only. It's just a chipped cup and an old shawl, Miss Blanchard,” he says, glancing at Belle as if to gauge her reaction. Belle looks curious, but that only makes his shoulder slump. 

The fact that Gold wants it retrieved tells Mary Margaret it is nothing insignificant at all. Gold has his own reasons for everything he does, that she is getting more and more certain of. And this one at least partially involves Belle.

Gold smiles faintly as he looks back at her, as if he can tell by her expression that she's not buying his story and rather likes that. 

“Okay,” she says, turning towards Graham again. “Let's find David.”

II

It's already raining as they drive into the forest, and the wind is starting to pick up. The forest feels dark around them as well, fallen trees littered among those still standing. Ashes cover some trees like snow, blanketing them in destruction. 

It makes Mary Margaret want to cry, but she bites it back and thinks of David instead. 

They're fairly deep inside the forest when they spot the sheriff's car parked by a fallen tree that is blocking the road ahead. David must have stopped here and walked the rest of the way, she figures, as she steps out of the car and is greeted by wind and rain.

“David!” she calls. “David?”

“David!” Graham calls as well, but there is no answer. “He's probably taken shelter in the cabin if he noticed the storm was coming.”

She nods furiously, not wanting to consider the other options. “We can...”

“Hello?” a thin voice calls, and Mary Margaret turns around to see a young boy emerge from the forest. “Can you help me?”

Graham is already moving, and Mary Margaret quickly follows. The boy is shaking as the wind and rain whips at him, but he still holds his head up high as they reach him.

“I think she might die,” he says as they draw nearer. “We ran out of food so dad went to get more and never came back. I just have her now. She can't die.”

“She won't die,” Mary Margaret says reassuringly as they reach him. “Where is your mother?”

“She's not my mother,” the boy says, taking Mary Margaret's hand and leading her along. His hand feels cold in hers and she wonders how long he's been alone in the forest. 

“There she is,” he says, sounding on the verge of tears. There is a woman wrapped in blankets underneath a tree, looking pale and with a nasty burn visible on her shoulder. 

“Regina,” Graham says, his breath catching. 

“Mayor Mills,” Mary Margaret says in wonder.

It is. As Graham hurries over, lifting her into his arms, Regina opens her eyes and looks right at Mary Margaret. 

“You,” Regina says faintly and in wonder. “You saved me.”

Before Mary Margaret has time to respond to that and the uneasy sense of deja vu, Regina closes her eyes again and her head falls back against Graham's arm.

“We should get her back to camp and let Whale have a look at her,” Graham says, hurrying towards the truck in long strides. Mary Margaret follows, still with the boy's hand in hers.

“Whale is a doctor,” she says, and the boy looks happier at that. “What's your name?”

“Owen,” he says.

“I'm Mary Margaret and he's Graham. We're looking for a guy named David, have you seen him?”

The boy shakes his head. “I haven't seen anyone since dad left. I've been slowly moving Regina from our camp to find someone to help us.”

“And you found us,” Mary Margaret says, squeezing his hand in comfort. “We have a large camp in town. Maybe we can help find your father too.”

“Do you have food?” he asks, looking a little ashamed to ask. “I'm so hungry.”

“We do,” she says, as they reach the truck. Graham is already easing Regina into the front seat, then glances over at Owen and her. 

“You take her and Owen back to camp,” Mary Margaret orders. “I'll find David.”

“Mary Margaret...”

“Not a discussion, Graham,” she says firmly, a part of her marvelling at herself. She isn't even sure where this is coming from, apart from concern for David. “David and I can seek shelter at the cabin when the storm hits. I will find him.”

He glances at the shivering Owen and at Regina, then reluctantly nods. She helps Owen into the front seat next to Regina, then closes the door and sets off up the road again as she hears Graham drive off behind her. 

The wind is starting to howl, and the rain is lashing at her. She's already soaked, but she doesn't care. 

“David!” she calls, barely hearing her own voice over the wind. 

Her legs ache and she's soaked to her bone by the time she reaches the cabin, and the door flies open. It's David, and she nearly collapses in relief at the sight of him. He did take shelter in the cabin after all. He's safe. He's fine.

He looks torn between surprise and delight at seeing her, before his face turns to worry and he races to meet her. The moment he reaches her, he pulls her into his arms, wrapping himself around her as if trying to shield her from the rain with his body. As a result, he's also dripping wet by the time they get indoors. 

With the wind, it takes a few tries before he gets the door closed and latched properly, especially since he refuses to let go of her. 

She clings to him as he begins leading her towards the small fire he's started in the fireplace, rubbing her back. She can see his backpack propped by against the wall, looking quite filled up. 

“Mary Margaret,” he says as she buries her face against his shoulder. “You're here.”

“Of course I am,” she says quietly. “Did you really think I'd let you stay out here alone in a storm?”

“I guess not,” he says, pulling back slightly to look at her. She must look a right mess with the rain and the wind, she reckons, but he still looks at her as if she's the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. 

“Graham was with me,” she says. “We found two survivor in the forest, so he's taking them back to the camp.”

“And you found me,” he says softly, cupping her cheek and smiling.

“I will always find you,” she swears, and he nods as if he believes her. “Emma is fine, Belle and Ruby are looking after her.”

He nods again, still staring at her in wonder. Outside, they can hear the thunder starting, and the flashes of lightning even light up the cabin for a few moments. 

“We should probably get out of these clothes,” she murmurs, remembering that they're both soaking wet. 

“Yes,” he says huskily. “We should.”

His eyes are dark with desire as he looks at her, and she knows that the wet clothing is clinging to every curve of her body, just as his is to him. She can feel the heat rise to her cheeks, but from desire rather than any sense of shame.

She has none with him. It feels so very right, this pull between them, this affection, this desire, this... 

Love, she thinks and her breath catches. 

Whatever he sees on her face, it's clearly an invitation. He leans forward and she closes her eyes, parting her lips slightly as she feels his breath brushing them. A moment later it's his lips, the touch soft and gentle while he steps closer and cups her cheek. 

He caresses her upper lip with his own first, before catching her lower lip and sucking lightly on it. She digs her fingers into the wet fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer as he keeps brushing, nibbling and sometimes just pressing his lips against hers. 

“Mary Margaret,” he whispers lovingly, his fingers caressing her ear.

“David,” she says, her voice thick with desire even to her own ears. He seems to hear it too, making a throaty moan and parting his lips.

His hands move to her waist as she deepens the kiss, exploring his mouth leisurely. She pauses only to allow him to pull her shirt off her and then take his own off, before crashing her lips onto his in her eagerness to resume the kiss. She can feel his hands trace the curve of her spine before unhooking her bra, pulling it off her while his tongue meets hers. 

His chest rises and falls against hers as she links her arms around his neck and presses herself even closer. He moans, stroking the sides of her breasts with his thumbs before sliding his hands down her sides. 

When he lifts her up, she locks her legs around his waist and begins tracing the line of his jaw with open-mouthed kisses. Moments later she feels the wall pressing into her back and he's grinding against her, and she scrapes her teeth against his collarbone in response. She kicks her shoes off, hearing them fall to the ground with a thump that sounds strangely distant, her heartbeat thundering in her ears and drowning out other sounds. 

His eyes close as she moves to trace the scars across his chest with her mouth, flicking her tongue against his skin as well. They don't mar him, she finds. They're a part of him just like his kindness, his anger, his protectiveness, his broad shoulders, his bright blue eyes that always seem to capture and hold her, and on and on; all those things that draw her to him. 

His face is bright with pleasure as she pulls back slightly to look at him, and she lovingly kisses the scar on his chin also. The sensation of it against her lips sparks an odd sensation of possessiveness, and she cups his head in her hands and peppers kisses across his face; his forehead, his nose, his cheeks, the scruff along his jaw, his eyelids and then the scar again.

He makes a noise at the back of his throat and then catches her lips with his own again, kissing her while slowly lowering her to her feet. He steps out of his shoes, kicking them away with an impatience that she's pretty sure she matches. His jeans follow, though not without curses due to them being wet and tight and seemingly fond of his skin. (So is she, so she can understand the attraction.) His underwear is last, and she takes the opportunity to trace the curve of his buttocks as she helps him pull it off. 

He makes a low noise that is almost a growl as she boldly moves her hand along the length of him. She can feel him harden as she continues with slow strokes, his head falling against her shoulder and his mouth settling on the skin by her collarbone. She isn't sure whose breathing is the more shallow after a minute, his or hers.

“Mary Margaret,” he groans, his voice thick with desire and frustration. He catches her wrists in his hand, lifting them above her head and preventing her from continuing her slow teasing of him. 

He looks at her through lowered eyelids, clearly trying to regain some sort of control. She sighs, then whimpers as he lifts his free hand and cups her breast, circling her nipple slowly with a finger. He watches her reaction, bending his head to kiss the line of her neck before moving downwards and finally letting go of her hands. 

He's seen her breasts countless times when she has been breastfeeding Emma in front of him, even touched them gently on occasion, but this still feels different. This is lust and want, and when his mouth settles on one of her breasts, she drags her nails across his back. His tongue flicks against her nipple and she's very glad her body is locked between the wall and his body, or she isn't sure she would be able to stand upright. 

But she wants more. Wants him, wants him inside her and around her and with her. As she fumbles with the zipper of her jeans, she feels his fingers tease the skin just above her waistline before moving to help her.

Her jeans are wet as his were and clinging to her skin with the same insistence, which, combined with both of them being unwilling to break the kiss, makes getting them off harder than it might have been otherwise. They do manage in a combined effort, and her underwear proves easy to discard by comparison. Slowly, he lifts one of her legs up to his hip and holds it there, moving his free hand down between her legs. 

She whimpers into the kiss, then bites down on his lower lip as his fingers stroke gently. It's overwhelming and yet not enough, and she presses against his fingers. She can feel his lips curve into a smile against hers, as if he finds her impatience endearing. 

He breaks the kiss to let them both breathe for a moment, pressing his forehead against hers at the same time as pressing a finger into her. She parts her lips soundlessly, feeling her cheeks burn. She clings to him as he caresses with his thumb while moving his finger slowly in and out, adding another one after a few moments.

“David,” she breathes. 

“Yes,” he says, kissing her burning cheeks lovingly and extracting his hand. 

“I want you,” she manages to say, knowing he can surely tell, but feeling a need to say it anyway. 

“I want _you_ ,” he says in return, kissing her hard and lifting her up again. She encases his mouth with hers, egging him on. She wants him. She really, really wants him, the desire in her impatient and needy, as if she's been waiting for far too long.

He seems to be able to read her body just like he reads everything else in her, thrusting into her with a speed and force that she welcomes. She locks her legs more firmly around his waist, not caring that she'll probably bruise from the wall at her back as he rocks into her. 

She clenches her muscles around him and bites down on his lower lip, making him growl and up the pace just like she wants. Yes. Yes. She scrapes her nails against his scalp as pleasure mounts and mounts in her, and when he snakes a hand between them and presses against her, her orgasm comes hard and fast.

She's dimly aware of David pushing into her a few more times before coming as well, his body shaking with the force of it. He can't keep them upright any longer, and they slump down together on the floor against the wall. 

He pulls her against his side while gasping for breath, and she tucks her head under his chin. She can feel his heartbeat and the heat in his skin, and feels a strange sort of pride at being the one to have caused that. 

As her own breath begins to steady, David's fingers move across her skin, caressing her arm and then shoulder, moving across her chest and up her neck, before lingering at her ear. He looks happy and sated when she glances up at him, and she kisses the underside of his jaw softly. 

In the distance, they can both hear more thunder roll across the sky and the rain and wind isn't letting up against the window.

“I guess we're stuck here for a while,” he murmurs softly. 

“Mmm,” she agrees. She thinks guiltily of Emma, but their daughter will manage a few hours without them in Red and Belle's company. 

“Are you cold?” he asks softly, rubbing her arms. 

“No,” she says. 

“Not taking any chances you will be,” he says, kissing her head before pulling them both up on their feet. She stands still while he picks up a blanket, wrapping her up gently while kissing the back of her neck and her shoulders. She watches as he first spreads their wet clothes out near the fire, then finds a blanket for himself as well, wrapping himself in it casually. Finally he wraps his arms around her too, her back resting against his chest. 

He lowers his head to rest his cheek against hers, his light scruff probably leaving marks on her skin. She doesn’t care. She caresses his arms that are locked around her waist, enjoying the sensation of his skin against her fingertips. 

“You can take the armchair if you want,” he says, and her gaze falls on the armchair in the corner. There is one other chair in the room, but it's a far less comfortable deck chair.

“Not without you,” she counters and he chuckles, probably remembering the cot incident that ended with them sharing. 

“As you wish,” he says, and she laughs as he turns her around in his embrace and then lifts her off her feet. She cups his head in her hands, kissing him as he swings her around and slowly moves towards the chair. 

She doesn't break the kiss as he sits down in the chair, arranging her across his lap and making sure the blanket still covers her. She is dimly aware of his hands moving inside her blanket, but she still gasps into the kiss as he cups a breast and moves his thumb across her nipple. With his other hand, he caresses her thigh slowly as if savouring the feel of it.

He kisses her leisurely too. His lips brush, peck, nibble and tug at hers while his hands roam her body under the blankets, making her feel breathless and wonderfully warm. 

He pulls back slightly, rubbing his nose against hers. “Mary Margaret?”

“Mmm?” she sighs, not having the breath for anything else. She can see him push his tongue out between his lips, looking hesitant. 

“I love you,” he blurts out and she draws a sharp breath. “I know it's crazy but...”

“Don't,” she says, pushing her finger against his lips. For a moment, he looks absolutely crestfallen and she realizes he thinks she means the don't as a reply to his declaration of love. “No! I mean, don't say it's crazy because then we both are.”

His face is bright with hope. “You...?”

“I love you,” she says, and his smile is radiant. She smiles back, and they grin at each other in a way she's pretty sure would be a poster for idiots in love. She doesn't care, and she kisses him and feels the curve of his lips against hers. 

They probably both are crazy, she thinks, given how intensely they feel about each other despite only having met recently. She isn't really one to believe in love at first sight, but she has no other explanation. They may have said it for the first time just now, but it certainly hasn't been the first time she's felt it or seen it in his gaze. She loves him. He loves her. It's true. 

He tilts his head, slanting his mouth across hers as she parts her lips and meets his tongue with her own. She can feel the throaty moan he makes as much as hearing it, and she chuckles into the kiss and draws her thumb across his cheekbone lovingly.

She breaks the kiss to shift position, standing up briefly while he rearranges the blankets and allows her to straddle him before wrapping the blankets around them both this time, leaving only skin between them. He leans back in the chair as she runs her hands down his smooth chest, watching her with bright, blue eyes. 

She leans down, hearing him moan softly as her breasts brush against his chest, and catches his lips with hers. She kisses him softly, caressing his lips with hers while he traces the curve of her back with his hands. They stay there as he sits up, pressing her against him as she deepens the kiss. 

She can feel that he is already hard underneath her, but grinds against him nevertheless, just to make sure. (And maybe to tease just a little.) He groans, dipping his fingers down and brushing ever so lightly. It's enough to make her head fall backwards, and his mouth moves down her chin and her neck, pausing to suck every time she moans. His fingers don't let up either, rubbing and brushing slowly and lightly. 

She lets out a whimper at the sudden loss when he extracts his hand, and he lifts his head and kisses her gently. She can feel his hands on her hips, lifting her up and she holds still while he adjusts underneath her. Then she lowers herself onto him and they both moan at the sensation. 

The previous time was lust and want, so much want. This is too, but more relaxed and more certain, almost leisurely and languid. He lifts a hand to her cheek as she rocks on him, bringing her forehead to rest against his. She can feel and hear his breath as they move together, how it catches when she clenches her muscles around him, how he holds it when he's as deep inside her as he can get, how it grows increasingly shallow as she moves up and down slowly. 

She caresses his lips with her thumbs as he watches her through lowered eyelids, his quick breaths a contrast to his slow thrusts. She can hear herself too, alternately panting and moaning, both fighting and enjoying the pleasure as she tries to hold on. It's quite strange how well their bodies seem to know each other, she thinks dimly, because he seems to know exactly where to touch her, as she does with him. So when he presses his fingers against just the right spot and she clenches her muscles around him, they both come. 

David falls back against the back of the chair and pulls her with him as his hips jerk and her body shudders. She's fairly certain she will be quite sore both from this and their earlier go against the wall, but it feels more than worth it. 

He is worth it, she thinks, caressing him with her gaze. His hair is mussed, his cheeks are red, and his skin bears the marks of her fingers and her mouth. He's absolutely beautiful like this, and so very much hers. She isn't sure where this strangely possessive thought comes from, except that it frequently seems tied to him and Emma. Her David. Their Emma. 

“I love you,” he says softly as he notices her gaze, seeming to enjoy the taste of the words. He smiles, and she kisses him happily, laughing into the kiss with the sheer joy of it. 

Love, she thinks faintly, as the kiss deepens and his lips part against hers. Whoever thought you could find that at the end of the world?

II

It's a few hours (and quite a lot of fooling around) later when David stirs behind her, kissing her shoulder lazily and adjusting the blanket around them. “I think the storm is over.”

“Mmm,” she agrees. They're resting on the floor near the fire, David having made a make-shift mattress out of chair pillows and blankets. With his body pressed against her back, she feels warm and comfortable and completely spent. “David?”

“Mmm?”

“Don't do that again.”

“Get caught in a storm? Wasn't planning on it, even if it did have some unexpected perks.”

She bites back a smile, shifting to lie on her back and look up at him. He gazes at her with such love she feels breathless before he dips his head down to kiss her lazily. She laces her fingers in his hair, pressing herself against him. 

He groans, then reluctantly pulls away and rubs his nose against hers.

“We better get back before Graham sends out a search party,” he says, and Mary Margaret nods. She still steals another quick kiss before David gets up and starts gathering their clothes. The clothes aren't completely dry, but Mary Margaret doesn't particularly feel like walking back wrapped in a blanket, so they will have to do.

Outside, the sky is still cloudy, but the rain and wind has died down somewhat. It's just a faint drizzle as they start making their way down, David taking the backpack and Mary Margaret the box of items Gold wanted from the cabin. 

The sheriff's car is still parked where it was, but it isn't alone. The truck is just pulling up, and David sends her an amused glance.

Of course it's Graham, looking relieved at the sight of them. 

“You are both complete idiots,” he announces as he steps out of the truck, and Mary Margaret bites her lip to keep from smiling. 

“Nice to see you too, Graham,” David says drily, hoisting the backpack into the back of the truck. “How are the two survivors you found?”

“Regina is dehydrated and has some serious burns, but Whale is sure she'll survive. She's resting now. Owen is refusing to leave her side. She was saying your name a lot, Mary Margaret.”

“Me?” Mary Margaret says, and David shoots her a glance. “Regina is Mayor Mills. But I don't know her all that well, we just bump into each other sometimes.”

David shrugs. “Maybe she's grateful you and Graham found her.”

She nods slowly, but still finds the idea slightly strange. Mayor Mills has scared her as long as she can remember, though she isn't sure exactly why. David still seems to pick up on it, squeezing her hand wordlessly. 

They drive back to the camp with Graham taking the sheriff's car and she and David taking the truck. As they reach the town, Mary Margaret can see that the storm has left a mark on the already battered town. A few houses that were barely standing have collapsed, and the debris from the ruins has further spread with the wind. 

The camp seems to be in good shape though, only a few wrecked cars having become overturned. As they drive in, Gold and Belle with Emma in her arms are waiting for them. 

David lights up at the sight, parking the truck and more or less jumping out. Mary Margaret can hear Emma make happy noises as Belle holds her out and he lifts her up.

“A father's love,” Gold observes. “Very charming, don't you agree, Miss Blanchard?”

She doesn't reply, instead lifting out the box of things David had gathered at the cabin and dumping it unceremoniously into his arms. “You owe him for this.”

He looks at her, then nods. “Yes. It will be repaid in time.”

Somehow, she finds herself believing that. 

“Be careful, Miss Blanchard,” Gold goes on. “Spencer is planning something.”

“How do you know that?” she asks, feeling something cold and sharp in her stomach. It might be fear.

“I have my sources,” he replies, and she nods reluctantly. Of course he does.

Taking a deep breath, she walks over to where David is holding Emma. He smiles at her, shifting the baby into her arms. Emma coos happily at that too.

“I think she missed you,” Belle says. “She cried a lot.”

“Sorry, Emma. Mommy and daddy had an adventure,” David says softly. “Daddy got trapped by the storm in the forest, but mommy found daddy just like daddy found you. We always find each other. You never have to worry.”

“Always,” Mary Margaret agrees, as Emma catches a finger with her hand and holds on. David looks at them both, bright blue eyes filled with love. He's been the first to make one love declaration today. She's going to be the second, she decides. “Mommy and daddy love you, sweetheart.”

She can hear David's breath catch. Then he puts one arm around her as he steps closer, resting his other hand on Emma's head. 

“We do,” he agrees thickly; and Mary Margaret knows that with all the love she's found now, she's quite, quite caught.


	7. The dreams in which I'm dying / Are the best I've ever had

II

_Interlude: Gold_

II

He should have seen it coming, Gold thinks as the world dies around him. They should all have seen it coming.

But no, they were all hoping for the best, hoping for a happy ending in the face of increasing tension and slow march into disaster. So wilfully blind as only humans can be.

He sees now, Gold is sure. Sees far too much as fire claims the sky and death will soon follow. Oh, he sees now, he's so sure.

The world is ending.

And Gold is still blinded by what he thinks he sees, even after he hears Emma's name and his eyes open again.

II

_Chapter seven: The dreams in which I'm dying / Are the best I've ever had_

_Graham_

II

There are days when Graham feels almost heartless, as if all they've seen and survived has more or less torn his heart out of his chest and left just a void. Perhaps it has to be that way. Perhaps life always comes with a price, and sometimes that price is one's heart.

But there are days when he thinks he might just still have one. Today, he's almost certain there is something still beating in him.

David is sitting on his cot playing with Emma with Mary Margaret watching and smiling, and Graham can't make himself clear his throat or otherwise alert them to his presence. He can only stand and watch, and feel his heart beat.

They look happy; even Emma is making happy noises. They look like a family; mother, father and their daughter. Perhaps that makes him the uncle. Uncle Graham.

He wouldn't mind being uncle to a baby like Emma. He wouldn't mind that at all.

David eases Emma into Mary Margaret's arms and the two look at each other for a moment before David leans forward and kisses her. It's fairly soft and gentle as they have a baby between them, but Graham still averts his eyes, feeling as if he's looking at something intimate.

Hell, even the way they look at each other feels intimate sometimes, a strange combination of longing, affection, attraction and shyness. Though today they seemed more assertive with each other, and he has some ideas about what that might mean.

"Graham!" Mary Margaret says and he looks up again to see her looking at him with a slight blush to her cheeks, David still with his fingers by her ear.

"Sorry to interrupt," Graham replies. "I know you've had a long day today."

"It's fine," David says, but there is a touch of regret in his voice. He lowers his hand, giving Mary Margaret exactly the kind of look Graham has become used to. "What is it? Spencer?"

"No," Graham says. Since the incident at the pharmacy, Spencer seems to have been lying low. Possibly plotting, or like them, gathering resources and finding survivors. It's been a quiet few weeks and they've still made Graham tense as hell, because he knows it can't last.

David sighs, as if he was hoping it would be Spencer just to get it over with. "The future, then."

"Yes," Graham agrees. He walks closer, pulling up a box and sitting down a few feet from them. "We have to start thinking about it sooner or later."

"And you prefer sooner," Mary Margaret says.

"Yes."

"Mary Margaret and I have been talking about it," David says, glancing at Mary Margaret and then down at Emma. "We can't just scavenge forever. We have to find a way to sustain ourselves if we want to survive."

"There are a number of farms around the town," Graham says. He's been thinking about them while failing to get a good night's sleep more or less every night.

"There's also the harbor and the fishing boats," David says, and Graham and Mary Margaret both look at him. "What? I am amnesiac, not blind. We were down there the a few weeks ago and I used my eyes. This town has clearly had a fishing industry."

Mary Margaret glances down and smiles faintly.

"You're right, it did," Graham confirms. "I don't know if any boats have survived intact, but one of the survivors we found a few days ago is a fisherman."

"There's the forest too," Mary Margaret says. "I know we've been scavenging firewood from the edge of the forest, but there might be something we can hunt further into the woods."

Wolves, Graham thinks sharply, and then the thought vanishes as suddenly as it came.

"I can take Sean with me to look at the farms tomorrow," Graham suggests, wondering why the forest makes him feel so uneasy.

"I don't want to risk a trip to the harbor before we know what Spencer is up to," David says firmly. "But we could scout out the farmland and take a look at fishing options later."

"Yeah," Mary Margaret says and they look at each other for a long moment, their fingers intertwined just like their lives seem to be getting. Graham envies that. Not that David has Mary Margaret exactly. It's more what they have between them. He can't remember ever having anything like that. Not with Regina, not with anyone.

"All right," David says finally, glancing up at Graham again. "If you and Sean take the truck, you can bring back anything useful you find. If a lot of the farm buildings are still standing, I think moving out there is an excellent idea, Graham. Not just for food. The town is still burning. It could spread here easily."

Graham nods. It's also further away from Spencer, neither of them say but both know. Certain relationships are just better long distance, Graham reckons, profound dislike being one of them.

"I wouldn't mind being a farmer," David goes on, clearly warming to the idea. Mary Margaret nods, standing up with Emma in her arms. The baby has fallen asleep while they've been talking, Graham realizes. David stands up too, kissing Emma on the head before Mary Margaret does the same. From how naturally they both do it, Graham guesses it's a habit.

Gently, Mary Margaret puts Emma into the crib while David has a hand at her back. For a moment, it's the perfect family picture. Graham feels awkward stepping into it, but he does for a moment, touching Emma's head gently.

She smiles, and he feels dizzy for a moment.

"Goodnight, Emma," he says. David and Mary Margaret remain standing, their hands brushing and lightly hooking two fingers together. "I'll let you three get some sleep. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Graham," Mary Margaret says, giving him a smile.

"Goodnight, Graham," David echoes, and Graham gives him a brief nod before heading out of the room. As he reaches the door, he can see Mary Margaret link her arms around David's neck and stand on tip-toe to kiss him.

Graham smiles faintly at that before walking out. Mary Margaret Blanchard. Supposedly a meek schoolteacher from what he knew of her previously, but from what he's seen on her with Emma and David, one with a warrior's heart.

The end of the world can bring out the best and the worst in people, Graham has started to learn. He just isn't sure just what it's bringing out in him. He likes to think he has a heart, that he is a good man, but sometimes his mind seems to howl and his chest feels empty.

At least he's not Albert Spencer. He takes comfort in that. He chose right, he's damn sure, the day he went with David Nolan.

It's been a very long day, but he still takes the time to check on Regina. He's not the only one, though. Gold is already there, watching her from the doorway with a thoughtful expression.

Owen is clinging to her, and Regina has her arms around him, holding him gently even in her sleep. The expression on her face is so tender it's breathtaking. Whale is sleeping in the corner, clearly exhausted from the effort of looking after her and the other wounded.

"Sheriff," Gold says coolly in way of greeting.

"Gold," Graham replies cautiously. Gold taking an interest in something generally worries him, whether it is in Emma, David, Mary Margaret or anyone else.

"So she survived to see what a world without happy endings is like," Gold observes, smiling unpleasantly. "I don't think she'll like it much, do you?"

"She survived," Graham says shortly, not sure exactly what Gold is talking about, but not liking the tone.

Regina opens her eyes, looking at Gold with such hostility Graham is taken aback.

"You," she says darkly.

"Mayor Mills," Gold says pleasantly. "It pleases me to see you alive to enjoy the fruits of your labor."

"Of yours, you mean," she says angrily, then lowers her voice as Owen makes a noise in his sleep. "I didn't want this, I just wanted to win for once. I wanted..."

"What are you talking about?" Graham asks in confusion, and they both glance at him as if they had forgotten he was in the room.

"The election campaign," Gold says smoothly. "Mayor Mills here won, promising to make a better world. I was just congratulating her on how she fulfilled her promise."

Graham furrows his brow. He honestly can't remember there actually being an election, but she is the mayor, so there must have been.

Maybe he's too tired to think coherently.

"Let the mayor have her rest," he tells Gold instead, who gives a faint smile before bowing his head with mock humility.

"As you wish, sheriff. We will talk later, Regina. We have a lot to discuss."

Regina closes her eyes as Gold walks off, muttering something angrily under her breath. Carefully, Graham sits down on the bed next to where she's lying.

"How are you feeling?" he asks.

"They saved me," she says quietly, trauma visible in the lines of her face. "Owen and his father. They looked after me in the forest. I would have been dead without them. And then Kurt went missing and Owen tried to look after me, he tried so hard..."

"He seems like a good kid," Graham says, glancing down at the boy.

She nods faintly. "Sn... Mary Margaret, where is she?"

"She was here to see you earlier, but you were asleep," he says, and several expressions seem to cross Regina's face too fast for him to register them all. "She had to go look after Emma."

"Emma?"

"Oh, she and David Nolan are looking after an orphan together. They've pretty much adopted her."

"David Nolan?" Regina repeats.

"The coma patient in the hospital."

She laughs bitterly, a strangely brittle sound. "So they found each other again. Of course. They always find each other."

"What?" he says. "They didn't know each other before."

She looks at him, then her face becomes a mask. "Right. I must be mistaken. I'm tired."

"I'll let you get your rest," he says, standing up. He hesitates, then touches her hand for a moment. "I'm glad to see you alive, Regina."

Emotion flickers across her face again, and after a moment, she just nods.

As he walks out, he glances back to see Regina kissing Owen's head, looking on the verge of tears. It's a strange thing to see her so vulnerable. She never was with him. Not that he can remember, anyway, and all the memories he has about her feel fuzzy and distant.

With that, he closes the door and heads down the hallway. As he always does before going to bed, he takes a look outside first, checking that Leroy is on guard and that their campfire is still burning.

Belle is sitting there, watching the fire with a faraway look on her face.

"You all right?" he asks gently.

"I don't know," she says. "Gold kept showing me this chipped cup, asking if it meant anything to me. It didn't."

"Because you don't remember," he says.

She nods, looking desolate. "I don't know who I am. I don't remember."

"Even with all your memories, it can be hard to know who you are," Graham says slowly, sitting down next to her. "A lot of people have changed after what happened. Maybe we've all forgotten something."

"Has Gold changed?" she asks curiously.

"I didn't know him very well before," Graham admits. "I don't think any of us did, perhaps except Regina. Mayor Mills, I mean. Maybe you can ask her once she starts feeling better."

Belle nods, clutching her book more firmly to her heart.

"It's like I know him, yet I don't," she says slowly. "Does that sound crazy?"

"No," Graham says. He shrugs. "I feel the same way sometimes. Not about Gold, but about others. If it helps anything, Belle, two of the people I know who seem the surest of who they are – that's you and David, and neither of you have your memories."

"Thanks," Belle says, smiling faintly. She glances sideways, and Graham sees Gold standing just outside the entrance to the town hall. "I have to go. I have a reading date."

Graham nods, watching her get up and walk over to Gold. The two exchange a longing gaze before walking inside. Graham gives them a few minutes before following (he has no desire to walk in on them making out up against a wall, as he has with David and Mary Margaret once) and heading towards his room.

The room he and Sean share isn't particularly large, but it serves its purpose, which is mainly sleep.

Sean is leaning against the wall as he walks inside. "Did you talk to David and Mary Margaret?"

"Yeah. They're all in favor of the farming idea," Graham confirms, and Sean looks pleased at that. At first, Sean didn't seem to know what to do without his father, but the young man has slowly but surely been growing into his own the last few weeks.

Graham almost feels like a proud father.

"We'll head out tomorrow and scout the area," Graham goes on. "Get some sleep."

Sean nods, finding his bed and by the sounds of it, falling asleep the moment his head hits the pillow. Graham smiles faintly at that. It's an ability he envies.

Sighing tiredly, he finds his way to his own cot and lies down, not even bothering to undress. He feels tired to his very bones most days, but he knows it's as much emotional as it is physical.

The world ended, and he feels it. He has no family to live for. He doesn't have what Mary Margaret and David have with each other and with Emma. Or what Ruby and Granny have, or even what Gold seems to be fumbling towards with Belle.

He lived for the responsibility at first. He was the sheriff, so he acted like one. But as far as reasons for living go, that one feels hollow. Especially because he knows that David, and possibly even Sean once the young man matures a bit, could manage to lead this community without him.

He and David are becoming something like friends and perhaps being Uncle Graham is a good reason too, but on days like this when he feels exhausted, he wishes he had something more.

A selfish thought, perhaps. With so many dead, maybe particularly so. But it still lingers, and aches.

He sighs again, closes his eyes and sleeps.

II

He wakes abruptly, his heart thundering in his ears and his breath stuck in his throat. For a moment, he thinks he's actually in the forest, and that the wolves have found him. They always find him.

Then he glances around and realizes it was merely a dream. A nightmare, though not exactly. He can't remember being afraid of the wolves in the dream. It is the humans he feared there.

Huh.

Sighing, he sits up. It looks like another early morning for him, as there have been plenty of lately. He washes up, changes his shirt and steps out into the pre-dawn. He gives Leroy, who's on guard duty, a brief nod, indicating that he can take over and Leroy nods gratefully back before heading inside to get some sleep.

David is already outside, Graham discovers, standing by the fire holding Emma in his arms while whispering softly to the baby.

"David," Graham greets him, and David looks up and just smiles.

"Graham. Hi. Emma was being fussy and I didn't want to wake up Mary Margaret."

Graham nods at that. "You look like you could use some sleep as well."

David chuckles softly. "I guess that's what having a baby is all about. No sleep."

"Yeah," Graham agrees softly. Not that he would know. "How is she doing? Emma, I mean."

"Good," David says brightly. "She's growing. She's strong, Graham. A real fighter."

She will need to be, Graham knows. In this world, she will really need to be. But with David and Mary Margaret as her parents now, she might just get there.

"You have a great daughter, David," he says and David smiles shyly.

"Yeah. I wish... I wish I could be a better father for her. I don't know anything about being a parent, or if I did, I don't remember. I only remember five minutes of my life before I became her father and that's the five minutes it took to find her."

Graham pats his shoulder. "David, you love her. I think that's the best start for parenting there is."

"I do love her," David agrees softly and Emma makes a soft noise. "That's right, daddy does. So very, very much."

Graham smiles, remembering the way David was looking at Emma when stumbling out of the hospital. If there was ever a thing like love at first sight, David Nolan has apparently been hit by it – and twice, given how he gawked at Mary Margaret the first time he saw her.

"And I have Mary Margaret," David goes on, smiling in a way that makes his whole face light up. "She's wonderful with Emma. She's..."

"Wonderful with you?" Graham teases, and David gives him a pointed look. "Sorry. I'm happy for you, David."

David nods slowly. "Emma and Mary Margaret, they're... I can't even describe it in words, Graham. They're _right_ , you know?"

"I don't," Graham says softly, thinking of his life. He really doesn't know what 'right' feels like.

"Then I hope one day you will," David says equally softly. "You deserve that."

"I don't know about that."

David glances over at him. "You're a good man, Graham. And before you tell me that I don't know who you were before, I'll tell you what a very wise man told me: I know who you are now. You're the guy who protects people. You're the guy who helps a man right out of his coma and never doubts him. You're the guy who reassures a doubting father. You're a good man, Graham."

"He is," a voice says behind them, and they turn to see Mary Margaret smiling softly at them both. "David is right, Graham."

"Mary Margaret," Graham says, wondering why he finds Mary Margaret's opinion of him so reassuring, just like he finds David's opinion the same.

"I do believe you snuck out of bed on me, Mr. Nolan," Mary Margaret says to David and he smiles sheepishly.

"Apologies, Miss Blanchard," he replies, walking over to her and looking at her in that way that makes Graham envious and happy for them both at the same time. "Miss Emma was in a restless mood."

Mary Margaret smiles at that, then looks thoughtful. "Maybe we should give her a last name."

"Blanchard Nolan?" David suggests, and Mary Margaret looks hesitant yet touched by the inclusion of her last name. "We have more or less adopted her. There is just no one around to make it official."

"Maybe we could give her a name of her own too," Mary Margaret says slowly. "We can't claim her by birth, but I want her to know we claimed her by love."

David nods. "So we give her our names and one of her own."

As they both look at Emma, an idea forms in Graham's mind.

"Swan," Graham suggests and they both look at him. "Like the ugly duckling, who turned out to be so beautiful and found a family just like it."

"Swan," David repeats. "Emma Swan. Emma Blanchard Nolan Swan. Quite long, but I like it."

"I like it too," Mary Margaret says, and they both beam at him. "I guess that makes you the godfather, Graham. Unless you still prefer uncle."

"I'll think about my preference," Graham says, feeling his heart ache and swell at the same time. Emma Swan. That sounds right, somehow.

"What do you think about your new name, Miss Swan?" David directs at Emma, who doesn't reply. "Oh. Naming excitement was too much for her. Looks like she's fallen asleep again. I'll take her inside and see if we can catch a few more hours of sleep. We'll see you later, Graham."

Graham nods. He watches his friends walk off, Mary Margaret hooking her arm in David's as they walk. They look lovely like that, the little family. The charming little family, as Gold prefers to call them.

The sort of family Graham wouldn't mind being adopted into.

He remains outside while the first hint of light begins to appear on the horizon, watching the sky while he lets his mind roam free. It's quiet - the storm clouds of yesterday now gone. The storm has passed, and yet he doesn't feel calm at all.

In the distance, a wolf howls and the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

Something is coming. Something is...

He hears footsteps too, running footsteps. Quickly, he whips his gun out and turns around. Someone is coming from down the road, and he can barely make out that it's a man from the shape.

"Stop!" he orders, but the man keeps running until he's just a few feet ahead. It isn't someone he recognizes from their camp but he doesn't want to shoot until he's sure it's someone with hostile intentions. "Who are you?"

"Jefferson," the man says, his eyes wild. "They're coming!"

"What? Who?" Graham says in confusion.

"Albert Spencer and his mob," Jefferson says, breathing hard. "They've made fire bombs. They're coming to burn you out."

Graham can feel his mind racing. They have been suspecting that Spencer was up to something, but something like _this_? The world is already on fire and yet he's looking to burn even more of it down?

"How do you know?!" he demands.

"Gold made me spy on them," Jefferson says bitterly. "They're coming, they're not far behind me. I have to get Grace out of here, I have to..."

Gold would be the person to put a spy in Spencer's camp, Graham thinks, and then his brain kicks into gear. "Warn the others, tell Gold... Tell David and Sean it's code Albie and head towards the farmland outside of town. Go!"

"What about you?" Jefferson asks, but he's already moving towards the entrance of the town hall.

"I'm going to slow them down," Graham says quietly, and in the distance, the wolf howls again. Sorrowfully this time, almost like a dirge.

Maybe he was wrong, Graham considers as he races down the street. Maybe it's not about finding something worth living for. Maybe it's about finding something worth dying for.

And he's found that.


	8. I've come to burn your kingdom down / so howl

II

_Interlude: Albert Spencer_

II

As the world ends, Albert Spencer stands and watches it and feels his anger rage along with the fire.

This isn't how it's supposed to be. The world is supposed to have rules, order and law. It's not supposed to end. It's not supposed to burn.

The world ends.

Albert Spencer decides to make his own.

II

_Chapter eight: I've come to burn your kingdom down / so howl_

_David_

II

This, this is a good morning, David decides.

Mary Margaret sighs happily as he kisses her again, running her hands up and down his chest.

"This is definitely better than getting a few more hours of sleep," he whispers against her lips, and she chuckles. Yes. He could happily do this every morning rather than sleep, he thinks, as Mary Margaret tugs at his bottom lip.

"As charming as this scene is..." a voice says from the door, and David breaks the kiss hurriedly. He turns her head to see Gold standing in the doorway,

for once looking completely serious. "We have problems. Spencer is coming."

"What?" David says, fumbling for his shirt and jeans. He lets Mary Margaret cover herself with the blanket while he extracts her clothes from the pile as well. Gold has turned his back like a gentleman, but Mary Margaret is still blushing furiously.

"I had a man in Spencer's camp," Gold says as David pulls his jeans on. "Jefferson. He's been watching them for weeks, occasionally sabotaging on my orders. But a few days ago some guy stumbled into their camp from the woods and they thought he was one of your guys. Shot him dead. Now Spencer has whipped them into a frenzy and they're coming to burn the town hall down."

David curses. Mary Margaret has managed to dress herself and is already reaching for Emma, lifting the baby up into her arms.

"Okay, alert Graham and Sean, it's code Albie," David says. He glances down at Mary Margaret's pale face and gives her a quick, reassuring kiss.

"Graham and Sean already know," Gold says quietly. "We're evacuating. Get what you need for Emma. The child has to live."

"Can't we stop them?" David asks, grabbing the first backpack of emergency supplies they have packed for this.

"They're setting fires and they're armed," Gold says. "Even if we drive them back, the fire will spread here and a different kind of fire will follow. Better not to waste any lives on a lost cause. They're using their remaining petrol to do this, so it will set them back. They will have enough to deal with soon enough."

"What do you mean?" Mary Margaret asks, clutching Emma closer as David helps her with her backpack and then grabs the crib and shoves some of Emma's stuff into it.

"With this racket, they'll wake the sleeping dragon," Gold says simply. David glances over at him, wondering if that is code for pissing off Gold or something.

"We're ready," he says instead, and they hurry out of the building. Outside, code Albie is in full effect, all working cars being loaded with supplies and people. And as Gold warned, David can see fire and smoke not too far away. They really are setting the buildings on this street on fire, he realizes, and balls his fist.

Spencer. If they didn't have advance warning, this would probably have been a massacre.

Mary Margaret gasps. "This is my fault, I shouldn't have shot him, I shouldn't..."

"No, Miss Blanchard," Gold says, and it's almost kindly. "This was always going to happen. A man who sees himself as a king won't tolerate a prince charming in his town, particularly one who won't kneel."

David clenches his jaw. He can see Sean helping Regina and Owen onto the truck, Belle and Ruby helping the children onto the other. Several cars stacked with food and other supplies are already moving out.

"Where's Graham?" he asks.

"Driving the first car with the water tank," Gold says. "I believe he said you had discussed moving to the farms outside of town and that you were to head there."

They did discuss that, David remembers. "Right. Is everyone else out?"

"Yes," Gold says. "You're the last. We're ready."

"Is the parting gift for our invading hordes ready?" David asks, clutching Mary Margaret's hand. He had so hoped it wouldn't come to this. He had even started to think it wouldn't with the peace and quiet the last few weeks.

"Yes," Gold says darkly.

David sighs, giving the town hall one last glance. It's been like a home the last few weeks, the only real home he can remember. But then again, his true home is with him, is with the people he loves. Like Mary Margaret and Emma.

"Let's go then," he says.

Just in time, as it turns out. The three of them are barely all loaded into the last car when they can hear a bottle being thrown over their barricades, and then another. Moments later, flames begin licking up one wall of the town hall.

Emma cries, and David can hear Mary Margaret murmur soft reassurances as he puts his foot on the pedal and speeds off through the emergency exit gate they've made. As he glances in the rear view mirror, David can see the fire begin to spread behind them.

Even Gold looks angry, shaking his head as if he finds all this destruction distasteful. David focuses on driving, following the line of other cars well ahead of them. Emma is still crying softly, and he can hear Mary Margaret trying to steady her breathing.

Albert Spencer. They're going to have to find a way to fight him, without resorting to similar tactics.

He does feel a slight satisfaction when he minutes later hears the faint explosion in the car they've rigged, spewing all the wreckage down the street. That will litter the road for miles and delay Spencer in coming after them that way unless they go on foot.

It was Mary Margaret's idea originally, and he can see the flash of grim satisfaction on her face as he glances over at her.

They drive on in silence through the morning, eventually reaching Storybrooke's farmland. The destruction is far less noticeable out here, David notices. Ashes are covering the fields and it will be one hell of a task to move it all, but they can farm here. Maybe come spring, and they would be able to survive on their supplies through winter in addition to what they can hunt and scavenge.

Several buildings are still standing, among them a giant barn surrounded by several farm houses. It's there that the rest of the cars have pulled over, and so David does the same.

Sean is already directing people, nodding at David as David unloads the crib from the car and Mary Margaret steps out with Emma.

"These farms looks abandoned," Sean says. "I'll divide housing and send out scouting parties, but I think this might be the place to settle. It's open ground, we'll see anyone approach from miles away."

"Right," David says, glancing around. "Where's Graham?"

"He's not here," Gold says calmly, and David turns around to see the older man lean on his cane.

"What?" Sean says. "You told me that he..."

"I lied to you and Mr. Nolan," Gold goes on, and David gets a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Jefferson alerted the sheriff of the impending attack before anyone else, and Graham ordered him to alert me while he set off to delay Spencer's mob for as long as he could. He saved lives."

"No..." Mary Margaret gasps, but in grief and not disbelief. David can believe it all too well himself. It sounds exactly like the sort of thing Graham would do.

Graham...

No, no, no.

"You lied to me!" he directs at Gold, feeling his tears streak his cheeks and not even caring.

"You would have run off in an attempt to save him and would have died with him," Gold says frankly and quietly. "I need you alive."

"I'm going back for him." David says, and he can feel Mary Margaret's gaze on him. "Mary Margaret, I have to. It's _Graham_."

"I know," she says, leaning up to kiss him fiercely. He meets it with equal desperation, trying to will all his love for her into one kiss. They're both breathing hard when they pull apart again, and Emma is crying softly.

"I love you both," he whispers, pressing his forehead against Mary Margaret's. He touches Emma's head gently, then leans down to kiss his daughter's forehead. "I will find you again."

"Or I will," Mary Margaret promises, pressing her lips against the hollow of his throat. He swallows and nods. He doesn't doubt that in the least. Softly, he shrugs his backpack off and leaves it at her feet. He won't need that. He does strap his sword on, and then his gun, though.

He might need them.

Gold is still standing by the car as David turns around again.

"Are you going to try to stop me?" David says angrily, but Gold shakes his head.

"It will be too late to help him," Gold says. "But I know you will do this to ease your conscience and know you did what you could. You can blame me afterwards if you feel better. I can handle it. Just get out of there fast, Mr. Nolan."

With that, Gold steps away, and David gets back into the car. He can see Mary Margaret, Gold and Sean look after him as he drives off, but he refuses to let himself think about it being the last time he sees them.

Instead, he focuses on driving and tries to formulate a plan. The town hall will probably still be burning, but Spencer might have people there looking for survivors. He'll have to approach carefully.

He can see the smoke curling up into the sky as he drives nearer. There is a fire all right, a violent, angry fire. It might even spread out of control, David reckons. In Spencer's eagerness to get at David, he might just have damned himself as well and burned his own kingdom too.

At least it will be enough to worry him for a while. That is something.

As he pulls into the town, David leaves the car behind a house that is out of line of fire, deciding to approach on foot the rest of the way. The heavy smoke is blanketing the town, and he uses it for cover as he slowly makes his way deeper into the town. He can't see any of Spencer's men, and given the smoke he can well understand that. It makes him cough and makes his eyes water,

The town hall is burning like a bonfire, and he circles around to get to the street on the other side. Apart from the roar of the flames, the town is eerily quiet. It is almost like that day when the world ended all over again, and it makes his mind scream at him.

He bites it back, forcing himself to keep going. Finally, after what feels like forever, he peeks into the main street and sees the trail of destruction Spencer's mob has brought. Two of them lie dead, he sees, and judging by the blood, others have been wounded.

And there, on the other side of the street, lies Graham. It has to be, David knows, as he moves hurriedly over to the body. His heart still sinks as he sees that it is indeed Graham. There is a pool of blood around him, and David already knows there is no saving his friend. There probably was none the moment Graham decided to delay Spencer.

"Graham," he whispers brokenly, lifting Graham's head up from the ground and leaning his forehead against his own. "What did you do?"

There is no answer, but there is a strange look of peace on Graham's face. It's almost as if he's sleeping, having good dreams unlike the nightmares David knows his friend had been struggling so much with.

"Graham..." he says, wishing he could find the words to make a proper eulogy, but they seem stuck in this throat.

He weeps then, cries until he's out of tears. This is his friend, the first friend he can remember making since the rest of his life is lost to him. This is Emma's uncle, because if David can claim to be her father from love, than Graham can claim to be the uncle. This is the man who brought David to other survivors, starting the whole community they have now.

This is _Graham_.

He sits quietly for a few more minutes, then sighs. It's time to go home.

Gently, he picks up Graham's body and starts carrying it down the street. Spencer might leave his men behind. David doesn't intend to.

II

By the time he gets back to their new camp, it's almost dark again. Sean has clearly worked his organizing skills, because fences are already being built, cars have been moved and houses have been moved into. It almost looks like a small village.

Gold is waiting for him with Sean and Leroy. At the sight of Graham's body, Gold just nods slowly, Leroy curses and Sean closes his eyes.

"We'll have a funeral tomorrow," David says quietly.

Sean nods. "I'll look after the body until then. He was my friend too, David."

"Yeah," David agrees thickly, as the younger man lifts Graham's body up and begins walking towards the barn with it.

"Sean gave your family the smallest farmhouse," Leroy says quietly. "Mary Margaret is there with Emma."

Mary Margaret, David thinks, and longs for her so much it aches. But he turns to Gold first, and Gold meets his eyes calmly.

"I understand why you did it," David says darkly, forcing back his anger. He does understand. Under certain circumstances, he might even have done something similar. "But if you ever lie to me like that again..."

He doesn't even have to voice the rest of it out loud. Gold simply nods, as if getting it. And with that, David walks towards the smallest of the farmhouses. It is a lovely house, even if it looks abandoned like the rest of them. The paint is peeling off and the roof has lost several tiles, but he can fix all those things. It can be a good house.

It can be a home.

He owes Graham that, he reckons. To make the best out of what Graham was apparently willing to die for.

Mary Margaret is waiting for him inside, just existing the bedroom as he enters. As she spots him, she takes a few steps forward and then just stands in the middle of the rather empty living room with teary eyes, and he walks over in three quick strides and clings to her. She tip-toes to let him bury his head against her shoulder, rubbing his back in comfort. She says nothing. She probably knows there is nothing to say, no words to offer that will fix this.

He breathes her in, pressing her closer. She's crying, he realizes, and he pulls back to cradle her head in his hands. She smiles sadly at him as he uses his thumbs to brush away her tears.

"David," she says softly, his name a caress in her mouth. Tenderly, she presses her lips against his, and he draws a slow, shuddering breath.

"Is Emma...?" he asks.

"In the bedroom," she replies quietly. "Leroy helped me set up the crib there. She's sleeping now, but she was crying for you earlier."

He longs for Emma too, and Mary Margaret seems to see it on his face, because she takes his hand quietly leads him into the bedroom. It's empty apart from the crib and a chair next to it. Mary Margaret must have been sitting there, he realizes, probably drawing comfort from their daughter just as he wants to.

He sinks down in the chair and leans his head against the edge of the crib and watches Emma sleep. Mary Margaret leans against him, caressing him and touching him comfortingly, even if she must be feeling her own grief.

"He won't get to see her grow up," he mutters brokenly. "He helped me save her and he won't get to see her grow up."

"I know," Mary Margaret says quietly, kissing his head. He tilts his head to look at her, seeing the pain on her face. She's grieving her own loss and grieving his at the same time, and his heart aches for her.

He pulls her onto his lap, covering her hand with his own as she presses it against his chest above his heart.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "He was your friend too."

She nods, and he kisses her eyelids as she closes her eyes. They sit like that in silence for a few minutes, only interrupted by Emma occasionally making a soft noise in her sleep.

Mary Margaret eventually stands up, cradling his head against her stomach for a moment.

"You're bloody," she says, and he realizes he must have gotten some of Graham's blood on him.

"Sorry, I'll go wash up," he offers, but she shakes her head.

"Let me do it," she says quietly, and he takes her hand and follows her into the bathroom. She's already brought a few buckets of water there, he notices, and directs him to stand while she undresses him. Her hands stroke his skin as she does, loving comforting touches. She cleans him in the same way too, gently and tenderly and pausing sometimes to kiss his skin.

It's comforting, and he lets himself feel it.

When she's satisfied, Mary Margaret finds him a set of clean clothes from the backpack, and then they step out of the bathroom and into the silent and darkening living room.

He finally gives the house a proper look. There is a kitchen, he notices, though all the appliances seem long gone. Not that any of them would work, since they have no electricity to begin with.

There is no furniture, only dust and empty walls.

"What do we need?" he asks, and Mary Margaret gently cups his cheek. "I need something to do right now, Mary Margaret. What do we need?"

"A bed," she says quietly. "Maybe a bench or something else to sit on. A table or two and some shelves eventually. We have a closet."

"Right," he murmurs, kissing her forehead. "I'll head out to the barn and see what we have to work with. Looks like Sean has set that up as the storage."

"I'll come with you," she says quietly. "I need something to do too, David. I'll find something I can take back here and do while I watch Emma."

He nods, taking her hand and sliding his palm against hers in a gentle caress before intertwining his fingers with hers. Hand in hand, they head outside.

They find Sean in the barn, and David discovers he was right. It has become a storage unit, littered with everything they managed to bring with them. And in the corner, Sean has covered Graham's body with a sheet.

There are already flowers around it, and David supposes the word has spread quickly. He swallows the lump in his throat that threatens to choke him.

"How much did we manage take with us?" he asks as Sean walks up to them, eyes red and puffy.

"A lot," Sean says quietly. "Most of the food and the water and the tools. It's a good thing we were prepared and had most of the cars preloaded. But we don't have much gas left for most of the cars we used. Whale and Ruby are out scouting the nearest area."

David nods tiredly. "What do we have of furniture or materials?"

"In the back," Sean says. "Just take whatever you need. There is a collapsed barn not far from here. I sent a couple of people to bring back planks and anything else that's useful. We'll have enough building materials."

"You found a good place for us, Sean," David says, patting Sean's shoulder. But Sean just looks slightly uncomfortable at that.

"I didn't find it. I just followed the wolf," he admits, and looks down. "I don't know why. It just seemed like it wanted me to follow it."

"Oh," David says, exchanging a glance with Mary Margaret. Huh. "Well, it was a good find either way."

In the distance, a wolf howls and David wonders.

II

It's late at night when David takes a last look over their new camp, feeling exhausted. It's already shaping up and because of the contingency plan he, Mary Margaret, Gold, Sean and Graham set up, they have managed to bring most of the vital supplies with them.

They have building materials. They have farmland. They have food and water. And they have people, the best people David knows.

This, this is going to be there new home, David decides. Their kingdom, as Gold likes to call it.

In the distance, something roars, and he turns to look towards Storybrooke. It looks as if it's still burning, and he can see a fireball shoot up.

"Best to let sleeping dragons rest," Gold says next to him, and David glances over at him.

"What do you mean?"

"Just that."

David lets it go, not feeling particularly like picking at Gold's riddles until they make sense.

"I am sorry about the loss of your friend," Gold goes on, and it actually sounds sincere by virtue of not trying hard to sound like it. "Albert Spencer always paid the price for his arrogance and he has this time too. Look at his kingdom burn."

David glances back at Storybrooke again, wondering just what is going on over there. But he cannot do anything about it tonight.

"Goodnight, Gold," he says instead, and heads towards his little house.

It's already becoming a home. There is a table and chairs there now, something Leroy and Mary Margaret put together. There are planks they've cut for the shelves they're going to put up, and a couch Mary Margaret is going to change the fabric on.

The small collection of books and other items they've collected and either brought with them or had on the prepared trucks are scattered around the living room. It's a start.

And in the bedroom where Mary Margaret is already sleeping, there is the twin bed they've put together and stuffed with hay and put a couple of a mattresses on top. Emma's crib is in the corner, shielded from the rest of the room with a tarp he's hung up. He's going to make Emma her own bedroom, he's already decided. He'll make her a room and fill it with as much as he can to show her how loved she is. He'll want her to fall asleep every night knowing she is loved.

And he and Mary Margaret will always know that she was loved by one other too. Loved enough to die for.

He discards his clothes by the bed and crawls naked in under the blankets, gently pressing himself against Mary Margaret. Her skin is soft against his, and he sighs at the sensation.

She makes a soft noise as he wraps his arms around her, and turns in his embrace to face him.

"Sorry," he whispers, drawing slow circles on her skin with his thumbs. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"I wanted to be awake," she replies quietly, shifting closer and brushing her nose against his. He can see the dark circles under her eyes, and the redness that tells him that she, like him, has cried several times today. The visible signs of her grief only make her more lovely, even as it breaks his heart to see, as it is another sign of her loving and caring nature.

She looks at him, and he can read the same naked need on her face as he can feel in himself. So he kisses her, wanting desperately to seek comfort in her and comfort her at the same time.

They kiss each other lightly and tenderly, brushing lips just as their hands brush skin. She's warm and smooth against his palm and fingers, the different textures and curves of her skin becoming mapped by touch.

Under the blankets, it feels like a cocoon, like he's wrapping himself in her and closing the world off. He can only hear _her_ ; her soft sighs, her breathing mixed with his and the faint echo of her heartbeats in her skin. She moans too, as he slants his mouth across hers and their tongues brush each other.

It feels almost like making love with their hands and lips before their bodies, kissing and touching and taking their time until they're both flushed and breathless. He can hardly breathe at all when she strokes the length of him, first with a finger, then with her hand.

Gently, he shifts her to lie underneath him, bending his head to kiss her neck. She arches into him as he moves his mouth across her skin, kissing there, sucking there, biting lightly there. When he glances up at her, he can see her biting her lip hard, and then he lowers his hand between her thighs and she gasps.

He keeps his hand there while he lifts his head to reclaim her lips, kissing her just as gently as his fingers caress her. Her moans and sighs into his mouth cause his own breath to catch until he's not sure who's breathing is more shallow, hers or his.

They look at each other as he adjusts position and then sinks into her slowly, so very slowly, the pleasure of it almost painful. She draws a sharp breath, pressing her forehead against his before kissing him again. They kiss, kiss and kiss as he thrusts and she meets every one. He can feel her breasts brush his chest every time he moves, and all he can feel is _her_ ; her skin, her body, her lips, her warmth, her love.

Her. Mary Margaret, and he gasps her name as he shudders and comes. She is silent when he coaxes her along moments later, biting into his shoulder with the force of it instead.

She kisses the teeth mark she's left afterwards, as he shifts to lie on his back and have her curled against his side halfway on top of him and one leg between his. She lowers her head to his chest while he caresses her back, and they lie in the silence for a while.

"I love you," he says after a while. He knows he's said that in so many other words today apart from words and that she probably knows, but he still feels like he should say it at least once every day.

She kisses the scruff on his cheek softly. "I love you, David."

He doesn't deserve all this, he thinks dimly. He doesn't deserve the kind of sacrifice Graham made today, the kind of love Mary Margaret offers, the kind of daughter Emma is. He feels unworthy of it, but it only strengthens his determination to be worthy.

He's going to be the best father he can. The best leader he can be. And for Mary Margaret, the best...

Mary Margaret looks up at him and he thinks about a question he should ask her very, very soon.

For now, he dips his head down and kisses her gratefully, feeling her presence as a comfort and a resolve both. He's going to do this. For himself, and for Graham.

And somewhere in the dark, a wolf howls, almost as if it agrees.


	9. Take what's dead / and breathe life in

II

_Interlude: Jefferson_

II

They're all affected by the curse, Jefferson realizes and yet he feels more cursed than any of them. He remembers. He knows who he is. He knows who Grace is. He knows.

He remembers.

And when the world ends, he knows there are others. Worlds with hope. Worlds with happy endings. Worlds without this. If they could only get, if he could only take Grace there...

Hope might be the worst curse of all, Jefferson decides and yet clings to it.

II

_Chapter nine: Take what's dead / and breathe life in_

_Regina_

II

"You're going to live, Mayor Mills," Frankenstein – Dr. Whale – tells Regina, managing a ghost of a smile before he walks out. That's what she feels like: a ghost. She's haunting rather than living, and no one is truly looking at her and seeing her.

Those who look at her, look at her with sympathy if anything at all. She catches the odd glimpse at her as she rests, feeling stuck in a haze of vague pain and painful memories.

This isn't what she wanted.

She just wanted to win. That's what she keeps thinking as Owen sleeps curled up next to her. (He fell asleep crying about his dad.) She just wanted to win. She wanted Snow to suffer, and revel in it forever (even if she was getting bored with it after a day), and most of all she wanted to win.

She's never won. And now, now she's lost again. Only this time, everyone seems to be losing right along with her. No one is winning.

This is a world without happy endings. This is a world that just ended, and they're forced to life in the after.

She has started to piece the situation together from the snippets she's picked up and what she can see with her own eyes. After the catastrophic events, a small community of survivors seems to have formed around the sheriff and the amnesiac prince, and then Snow joined up. They were based at the town hall until recently, when Albert Spencer attacked. The sheriff was killed (she feels a faint pang at that, but of what she isn't sure) and the town hall set on fire.

And now they are here, apparently becoming farmers. A small community of cursed survivors determined to live even after everything.

The will to live. Even now, it stirs in here too, despite everything. She can feel it, the desire to live another day.

It is another day. It will be morning soon, the faint light streaming in through the windows tells her. She and Owen have been given their own room, with Belle in the one next to hers. It's the sort of faint irony Regina doesn't appreciate.

At least it isn't Snow and Charming in the next room. She only caught brief glimpses of them yesterday with everything going on, but that was enough to know it would be a very bad idea to be anywhere near their bedroom.

Yet she can't quite muster the energy to rage about it. Her body hurts, but her mind and heart seem to as well. She hurts. She's dealt with death and brought it upon others, but this... This is on a scale even she can't imagine. She can't even wish it on Snow. She can't...

Owen whimpers in his sleep and she instinctively hugs him closer. His father is dead, she's managed to piece that together. He must have been the man to walk into the camp of Albert Spencer – King George – and inadvertently set in motion the events of yesterday.

Maybe it would have happened sooner or later anyway. George was always a fool, and one with the tact of a bull in a stampede. And now the bull has left a boy fatherless.

_That_ she feels angry about, or will once she has the energy to. Owen has looked after her for weeks, and he's become...

She doesn't allow herself to finish the thought, instead careful extracting herself from him and tucking him in better. Her throat feels scratchy and she longs for water. Slowly, she makes her way outside to the water tanks.

A few others seem to be early risers. Dr. Whale – Frankenstein, really, but apparently he is more comfortable being a giant maritime mammal here - and Ruby – Red by any other gem name – are standing quietly together, their hands lingering inches away from each other as they seem to pretend neither of them have finished their drink of water ages ago.

They both nod at her, no greater recognition in their faces. As she gets her drink of water, the two of them give each other a lingering look and then walk off in different directions. She finds herself wondering if the end of the world is also the end of all dating standards. Frankenstein and the wolf?

In the distance, Storybrooke is burning still. She can see the smoke and every now and then a flash of fire. Albert Spencer's attack seems to have backfired rather spectacularly, and she wonders if that is more than a coincidence.

"Good morning, dearie," Rumplestiltskin says behind her, and she very deliberately takes another drink of water before turning around to meet his gaze. "What a disappointment to see you up and about rather than crying into your pillow."

"Always a pleasure to be a disappointment to you, Rumpel," she says as acidly as she can manage. "What do you want?"

"To know what you want," he counters smoothly. So, he still has some plan he's working on, she guesses. He wouldn't care otherwise.

What does she want? She knows what she wanted once, but that feels like a lifetime ago. Like a world ago. She thinks of Daniel, and of Snow, but they feel distant. She thinks of the end of the world and of Owen, and those feel very, very near.

"I don't know," she says, and he looks at her for a long, long moment.

"Let me know when you figure it out, dearie, so I'll know whether to kill you or to use you."

She raises an eyebrow at his outright hostility.

"You did imprison Belle back in our land," he says, a dark glint in his eyes.

"I was as surprised as you..."

" _Don't lie to me_ ," he says, and for a moment he's all Dark One again even without the scaly skin and the costume. She holds her head up, but only barely. "You're a terrible liar, Regina."

"I could have killed her, but I didn't," she says, but he doesn't look particularly impressed by that at all. "What does it matter now? This world ended. We're all dead."

He simply smiles and she knows he very definitely has a plan. Of course.

He's smiling at something else too, she realizes, and lifts her gaze to see Snow and Charming talking to Red, Snow carrying the baby they've apparently adopted. They're gesturing, clearly giving instructions or something similar. Red nods at them, and the scene could be right out of their land and still fit.

Especially after Red walks away, and Charming turns to Snow in the pale morning light and kisses his wife that he supposedly doesn't remember as if he has every right to it.

"Watching anything interesting, dearie?" Rumpel asks merrily.

"They seem so... " she says, finally tearing her gaze away as Snow smiles against Charming's lips.

"Like their true selves?" Rumpel suggests. "In your certainty he would never wake, you left David Nolan without any false memories at all. And so, his charming self has nothing to hold it back. Mary Margaret was only what you cursed her to be for a day before the world ended. Not much time to settle into her misery before she found her prince charming again."

Regina shakes her head. "It's more than that, _Rumpel_. Stop circling the point like a serpent and get to it."

He smiles unpleasantly. "Oh, but that is half the point, dearie. The other is their charming little baby."

She blinks, then realization settles in. "It's theirs, isn't it? They adopted their own baby and don't even know it?"

"Fate, it seems, has a sense of humor that far outshines mine," he says merrily.

She laughs bitterly, then gleefully as a thought occurs to her. "It does, doesn't it? Because the curse isn't broken, is it? You're stuck here, with all your knowledge and none of your power."

She can see on his face that she is right, and she laughs again. Yes. Fate certainly has a sense of humor and it seems to be even darker than the Dark One's.

"The curse will break," he says, a command and a threat both. "It's already weakening. You're feeling it too, aren't you? Your grudge against the fair Miss Blanchard and the charming Mr. Nolan was useful to me at one time. Now I would consider it a nuisance, and you know what I do with nuisances."

"Still trying to play the spider in the web even when you're all out of spider web, Rumpel?" she taunts, mostly just out of habit and a little for the fun of it.

"Still trying to play the Evil Queen when you're all out of kingdoms to terrorize?"

They stare at each other for a while longer, neither looking away and neither giving an inch.

"Regina?" Owen says, and she turns around abruptly to see him just a few feet away, shivering. "I thought you had left. Like dad did."

"No!" she says hurriedly, walking over and dropping down on her knees to pull him into a hug. "I just went to get a drink. I'm sorry I scared you."

"You're not leaving me?" he asks, shivering slightly and she rubs his arms in response.

"Never," she promises. She means it too, she realizes. Owen needs her. He has no one else. Rather like her, really.

"Never," he agrees, and clings to her. Behind her, she can hear Rumpel whistle softly.

"Queen, mother... Mother, queen... Make your mind up what you want in this world, Regina. Then we can make a deal."

He walks off with his cane, still whistling a tune she recognizes as a nursery rhyme. That twisted imp, that snake, that...

She bites back her anger, focusing instead on Owen. He still looks scared and teary as she pulls back to look at him, and she wishes she could take away all his hurt.

"It's going to be all right," she promises. It will be. She'll make it all right. He's going to have a happy ending.

"Good morning," a familiar voice says, and she has to bite back another surge of anger as she immediately recognizes it.

"Good morning," she manages to say, turning around to face Snow White and Prince Charming and their baby.

They look like such a perfect little family even without knowing that is exactly what they are. Baby Emma is resting in some sort of sling Snow is wearing, and Snow and Charming are holding hands.

"We didn't get a chance to get properly introduced," Charming says, all friendly. "I'm David. You already met Mary Margaret, and this is Emma, our... Our child."

He smiles as he says that, and Snow looks up at him and smiles too. It's all very them. In fact, it's so hard not to think of them as Snow and Charming, especially when they're acting like two idiots in love as only Snow and Charming can. They might be a little more shy about it, but no less obvious.

Owen looks at Snow and Charming and Emma curiously, but it's Regina's hand he takes and grasps.

"This is Owen," she says, unable to keep her voice neutral. Far too much affection and possessiveness in it, but that only makes the two idiots smile.

"Pleased to meet you, Owen," Snow says.

Owen nods seriously. "This is Regina."

Snow and Charming smile at that, before David holds out his hand. Owen shakes it and then Snow's, and Regina has to begrudgingly give them points for noticing Owen's desire to be treated seriously.

"We're having a funeral for Graham today," Charming says quietly after a moment. "You're welcome to come if you wish, but you don't have to."

Snow looks down at that, and Charming glances over at her as if he can sense her grief.

"I'll come," Regina says. She took his heart and he never truly loved her, yet she feels something at his death. It might even be regret. She never really wanted to see him dead. "He was in my service."

David smiles sadly. "He was a good sheriff and a good man."

"He was," Snow agrees, and both of them radiate so much grief it would have made the Evil Queen smile happily. It just makes Regina feel more tired. She can't even enjoy their grief.

"Owen and I are going to get something to eat," she says instead.

"Of course. It was nice to meet you, Owen. Mayor Mills," David says, and there is no hint of resentment in his voice at all. He carries himself like Charming, and his hand holding Snow's hand so assertively and yet gently is all Charming, but he clearly doesn't remember. If he did, he wouldn't be able to mask it. Not Charming, not the shepherd who is as straightforward as a sheep.

"Good to see you looking better," Snow – no, Mary Margaret. Regina has to train herself to think of Snow as Mary Margaret – says, smiling sympathetically, and Regina is torn between wanting to claw her face off and wanting to have more of Snow just like this.

This is what they had once. They had sympathy for each other, and maybe even something more. Before... Before everything changed.

And now it can change again.

But to what?

II

"You!" Jefferson says, practically a hiss. She turns around, grateful that Owen is eating breakfast and not listening.

"Jefferson," she says. She had almost forgotten him; rather ironic, since she chose him to remember. She's almost ready to simply dismiss him, but then she remembers his hat.

That may still be useful. Better not to burn all bridges.

"Grace doesn't even remember me," he says darkly, stepping up as if ready to strangle her.

"But she's alive," she counters, standing her ground. "Love her like a father and she will see you like one."

"Parenting advice from the Evil Queen?" he says angrily. "What do you know about it?"

She thinks of young Snow, so very young and looking up at her with admiration, and of Owen, so very young and beginning to look up at her too.

"I'm learning," she says, and walks away; Jefferson's gaze following her all the way until she takes Owen's hand.

II

Graham's funeral is quiet and as dignified as can be managed under the circumstances. Everyone is there, all looking grief-stricken.

He died heroically, David eulogizes. Regina can only agree. The huntsman always picked the worst time for heroics and sacrifices.

He had a good heart, Mary Margaret mentions between tears. Regina held it in her hands and knows that better than anyone. He wouldn't take Snow's heart, and so gave up his own.

He protected them, Sean says over and over. Like a wolf having found his pack, Regina thinks.

Graham's body is lowered into the ground, and Regina watches numbly and wonders what she's supposed to feel. It's easy to see what everyone else feels. Mary Margaret is crying while David holds her and looks on the verge of tears, Sean walks off while angrily kicking dirt and all the others seem to convey all the emotions between quiet grief and outright despair.

Slowly, one by one, people walk away until only Snow and Charming – no, David and Mary Margaret – are left by the grave, looking desolate.

Owen looks at her, eyes older and wiser and sadder than any child's should be.

"Are you sad too?" he asks quietly.

She thinks about Graham, about death and about the world she is now in. "Yes."

He takes her hand gently. "I'm sad about dad."

"It's okay to be sad," she assures him, leading him away. She throws one last glance back at David and Mary Margaret, wrapped in each other and wrapped in grief, and again feels nothing.

Perhaps it's because it's not she who has inflicted this grief on them, or perhaps she's lost the taste for it.

"Everyone is sad," Owen observes in a thick voice.

"It's a sad world," she agrees, then glances down at him as an idea forms. Jefferson and his hat. The savior and the curse breaking. "There are other worlds, Owen. Better worlds."

"There are?" he asks seriously.

"Yes," she replies just as seriously. "There is one world called the Enchanted Forest. It's a world of happy endings."

"That sounds like a fairytale," he says, kicking some dirt and trying to sound much too old for fairytales.

"Owen," she says firmly, stopping and bending down to look right at him. "It's real."

He searches her face, clearly looking for any sign that she is lying. Slowly, very slowly his face changes from dubious to hopeful.

"Is it really?" he breathes.

" _Yes_ ," she says firmly. Whatever state their land is in, it has to be better than this. It's a land where she'll have magic. It's a land with happy endings, at least for those who are good - and Owen is.

It's a land Owen deserves. This ruined world can't offer him much, but she can.

"Can we go there?" he asks hopefully.

"Yes," she says, and his eyes light up. "But it may take some time to get us there, Owen. We have to keep it a secret between us until then."

"I swear," he says solemnly. "But can you tell me bedtime stories about it?"

"Every night," she promises and he hugs her, resting his head against her shoulder. She hesitates, holding very still for a moment. Then gently, tenderly, she puts her arms around him too.

The will to live, she thinks again. How strangely tied it is to the will to love.

II

It is almost dark when Regina makes the first of two visits, knocking on the door to the smallest farmhouse and waiting until she hears footsteps and then the door opening.

"Mayor Mills," David says. He looks tired, but still manages a faint smile. Behind him, she can see Mary Margaret rocking Emma in her arms.

"Owen and I would like to stay here," she tells him, and she can see Mary Margaret look up and smile briefly at that.

"You're very welcome to," he says sincerely, and she wonders if there is a part of Charming's memories trapped somewhere in there, currently howling. "You're welcome to stay with us as long as you like. You and Owen."

There is certainly a part of her that is the Evil Queen that is screaming, but she shoves it hard to the back of her mind.

Owen, she remembers and clings to that thought. Owen.

"I plan to look after Owen," she goes on and David nods, as if he gets it. Maybe he does. Emma is his daughter by birth and he doesn't even know it, yet clearly loves her just as much.

"I'm sorry about his father," David says.

Charming doesn't remember. Snow doesn't remember. They think she's just another Storybrooke citizen, just another survivor. They don't see her as the Evil Queen.

They don't see her as anything yet. It's a blank canvas, a new start, a new world.

She can choose how they see her from now on.

"It will be good to have you here, Mayor Mills," Mary Margaret says softly, stepping closer and Regina can see the baby has fallen asleep in her arms.

"Regina," Regina replies after a moment, making the first of many choices she know is to come. "Please call me Regina. Titles can be so very confining, don't you think?"

II

The second visit she doesn't bother knocking, just opens the door softly and walks into Gold's small cottage.

He isn't alone there, though. Belle is reading, and he is listening to her with an expression so soft it almost throws her off her game.

Not quite, but almost.

"You have your own private librarian, how sweet," she says and Belle freezes, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. Rumpel lifts his hand from Belle's and gives Regina an icy look.

"No knocking? All Miss Manners today, Miss Mills," he observes.

"Am I interrupting?" she asks with a silken voice.

"Yes," Rumpel says shortly.

"Good," she comments and glides into the room. "Your book club can wait. We need to talk."

Rumpel sighs, then turns to Belle. "My apologies for the rudeness. I will see you tomorrow, Belle."

"See you tomorrow, Gold," Belle answers breathlessly and Regina rolls her eyes. So not only will she have to endure Snow and Charming being all lovey dovey in the Snow and Charming way, she'll also get a front seat to the Dark One in Love: A Comedy of Dating Errors.

Rumpel folds his hands as Belle exits, looking at Regina with a fairly composed expression, with just the tiniest hint of annoyance creeping in.

"What do you want, Regina?"

"I want to find Kurt's body," she says. "For Owen. To have something to bury."

"That may prove difficult," Rumpel says, and when she gives him an irritated glance, he just smiles. "However, should the opportunity arise, I will see what can be done. What else, dearie?"

"Let's make a deal," she says and he looks at her. "You want the curse to break. How long will that take?"

"28 years," he says. "Don't worry. We won't age until it does. Emma will and your boy Owen will, but we will not."

"28 years," she says quietly, her mind racing. Owen will age but she won't. "All right, Rumpel. You have your 28 years but no more."

"You want me to promise you to stop protecting them after the curse has broken so you can finally have your revenge?" he says, and he actually looks unhappy about that. Could he actually care about them, even a little?

"I didn't say that," she says, smiling the blandest smile she can manage. "I just said that 28 years is what you get. Afterward…"

With that, she walks off. It's not just leaving Rumpel uncertain (as amusing as that is) that makes her leave it at that. She just isn't sure herself.

28 years. That's what she'll have to decide who she wants to be.


	10. Get a dream of life again / a little vision of the start and the end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: In the previous chapter, when Snow and Charming are talking about Regina staying, they are actually referring to her staying with their group and in their 'community' rather than staying specifically with them. Regina isn't moving into their house; they don't really have room in any case. Sorry I didn't make that clear enough!

II

_Interlude: Emma_

II

She's too young to understand what is happening, and too young to remember much of anything. All she knows is that something is wrong now - knows it in a way she can't verbalize but still feels.

So she cries. Cries and cries as the world ends around her, cries as people die around her and she lives.

And then a pair of arms lift her up and hold her. As they have before, but she doesn't remember that. She's too young.

All she knows is that the arms are right now - knows in a way she can't verbalize but still feels. This is right.

So Emma stops crying and looks up at her father, and finds him her whole world.

II

_Chapter ten: Get a dream of life again / a little vision of the start and the end_

_Mary Margaret_

II

There is always an after, Mary Margaret knows. A day ends and a new one comes after. Hearts get broken, yet life goes on after. Friends die and are mourned, and there are new days after. Even the end of the world has an after, and they're trying to make something of it.

Graham is dead.

There is an after.

II

David is still sleeping when Mary Margaret slips quietly out of his embrace, kissing his shoulder as she does. He sighs softly, and she lets her hand linger on his head for a moment longer, marvelling at how natural it feels to wake up next to him. It has from the very first morning she woke next to him through all the weeks of it and into the now where they aren't just sharing the bed to sleep.

It just feels right, and she's given up on figuring out how it could from the moment she met him. Maybe true love at first sight isn't just a fairytale and can actually happen – and did.

Emma is sleeping as well when Mary Margaret pauses to check on their baby, who is looking peaceful and happy. Theirs. That still makes her heart skip a beat; that this wonderful baby girl is hers and David's (even if not by birth). They're going to raise her, see her grow up, see her take her first steps and say her first word. (Mommy, David insists, while Mary Margaret thinks daddy.)

That feels right too.

A lot of other things are very, very wrong and she walks out into the chilly air and makes her way to the quiet grave under the single apple tree that is still standing.  
Graham's grave.

She stands silently by it for a few moments, forcing back the tears that even now come despite how much she's cried over him already.

He was David's friend first, and she mourns David's loss as much as her own. She mourns Emma's loss too, the uncle she won't have.

"I'll look after them, David and Emma," she says quietly. "I'll keep them safe. I'll love them. I just want you to know that."

There is no answer and can't be, but she still feels better having said it. She has a feeling David will make a similar trip at some point, probably making a similar promise. She knows him well enough to make that prediction.

(And one day, maybe she and David will have a son and name him Graham. Maybe.)

She's cold when she makes her way inside again. Even so, the moment she slips her clothes off and slips back into bed, David still reaches for her. He doesn't seem to care about her cold skin, nuzzling up against her and kissing his way up from her shoulder.

"Hi," he says, as his lips find hers and he kisses her leisurely and lazily. His hands brush her skin and his body is warm against hers, warming her too. She cups his cheek to pull him even closer, and he sighs happily into the kiss.

"Hi," she says against his lips, and she can feel him smile as he steals another kiss.

"Hi the second," he murmurs sleepily. "Where were you?"

"Just had something to tell a friend," she says softly. He opens his eyes and looks at her, and she knows that he can guess exactly where she's been. He nods faintly, lacing his fingers in hers and pressing his forehead against hers.

They lie together in the faint morning light just like that, drawing comfort from each other. Only when Emma begins to cry do they get up, and he sits with her while she breastfeeds their baby, as he always does.

It's a new day. There are always new days.

II

Days follow days, and slowly but surely their small community begins to make a home yet again. Buildings are reinforced or expanded, fences are built, fields are cleared, a few surviving farm animals are found and rounded up, and they keep a guard in the water tower at all times.

No attack comes.

Instead, Sean sneaks off to scout around Storybrooke (which earns him an angry David telling him off before hugging him and telling him Graham wouldn't want this) and comes back with stories about massive destruction, and no sign of Albert Spencer at all. The library looks as if it has been hit by an earthquake or explosion or something, Sean tells them, a a gaping hole leading into some sort of cavern. Everything around is on fire, and the school is completely burned down.

Gold just smiles at that, making cryptic remarks about sleeping dragons. What that is a metaphor for, Mary Margaret isn't sure. She's just sure it's nothing good, which might actually be good for them.

She can't quite mourn Albert Spencer, but she does feel for the people who might have followed him simply because they felt like there were no other options.

Sean doesn't find Kurt Flynn's body, which apparently Gold had asked him about. They decide to hold a funeral anyway, for little Owen's sake, and the boy buries a keychain under the apple tree. Regina stays by Owen the whole time and thanks them stiffly afterwards, which makes Mary Margaret hug her sympathetically.

And for the briefest moment, Regina actually hugs her back.

II

Regina comes to visit one morning while David and Mary Margaret are working outside on reinforcing the new wall for Emma's bedroom. It's becoming a lovely little room, stuffed with all the toys they've managed to find and a few David has made. There are even books, a growing collection now after Belle found several in an abandoned home.

Regina watches them for a moment with an expression Mary Margaret can't quite read, a brown book tucked in under her arm.

"Good morning, Regina," David greets her, helping Mary Margaret down from the ladder.

"Good morning, David. S... Mary Margaret," Regina replies. She seems to take a deep breath, then offers a halfway sincere smile and holds out the book. "For Emma."

Mary Margaret accepts it, glancing down at the title. 'Once Upon a Time.' Oh. "Fairytales?"

"Yes," Regina says. "I've been telling Owen all the fairytales I remember. We decided to write them down and make a book of them. He's made the drawings."

"Thank you," David says, giving Regina a quick smile and then Mary Margaret a lingering one. "I'm sure Emma will love hearing these."

Regina nods slowly. "I hope they'll make sense to her one day."

"Oh, I'm sure they will," Mary Margaret says, and smiles. "They have hope, and believing in even the possibility of a happy ending is a very powerful thing."

David takes her hand at that, his palm warm against hers as their fingers entwine.

"It is," he agrees and Mary Margaret wonders if she can dare believing in one despite everything that has happened.

II

It's getting colder, and they all know it's going to be a difficult winter, especially without any electricity for heating. She can tell David worries about it, as they all do, and she offers what comfort and support in touches and kisses that she can.

She's bolder with him than anyone she can remember, she notices. The faint memories she has of past loves always seem to have her meeker and less assertive, but with David it feels different. It is different. She knows it's right in a way she never has before, she just doesn't know where that knowledge comes from.

So she holds his hand when they walk, she touches him when they sit together, she kisses him when he gives her one of his smiles, she looks at him with all the love she feels and sees it mirrored in his eyes, she sleeps with him with a passion she didn't know she had, and she knows whatever a happy ending might look like for her – it involves waking up with him every morning.

For better or worse, in sickness and in health, through the end of the world and after, till death do them part... She wants that with him.

So does he with her, she learns.

II

She walks in on David pacing around their bedroom with Emma in his arms one afternoon, apparently talking to himself.

"I would be honored if... No. Mary Margaret Blanchard, you're the... No."

"What are you doing?" she asks, and David turns around with a look on his face that reminds her of catching pupils at trying to finish their homework five minutes before the class starts.

"Mary Margaret," he says. Emma kicks slightly in his arms, but he pays it no heed. "Hi."

"David," she replies, stepping into the room. "What's going on?"

"I was going to do a grand speech," he says nervously. "I was just rehearsing, and..."

"Why do you need a speech?"

He looks at her, then smiles affectionately. "You're right. Maybe I don't."

She stands still as he steps closer, looking at her in that way he does and that still leaves her flushed and breathless.

"Mary Margaret Blanchard," he says softly, dropping down on one knee with the baby still in his arms, and Mary Margaret's breath catches. "I love you. Emma Blanchard Nolan Swan loves you. Will you marry us?"

She forces back her tears, watching the two people she loves more than then world itself look up at her.

"What do you think?" she says, and his face lights up as he breaks into a grin. He chuckles as she pulls him up and kisses him, and then Emma and then him again, again and again.

"I think yes, but I was rather asking you," he murmurs against her lips. She smiles and he smiles, and then they're just beaming stupidly at each other.

"I think mommy said yes," he says to Emma, who makes an impatient noise.

"Mommy said yes," Mary Margaret agrees, and kisses him again.

II

Snow.

It snows as Mary Margaret Blanchard marries David Nolan, light snowflakes that float through the air and begin to color the world white. They cling to Mary Margaret's hair too, but David seems to find that just beautiful judging by how he looks at her. Or rather, how he can't look away.

She wears white, a white dress Belle and Ruby have found for her and shyly presented her with. It's not a wedding gown, but it is beautiful nonetheless. Emma wears white too, acting as the maid of honor and best woman in one.

David says his vows with a clear voice, looking at her with bright, happy eyes and smiling at every word. He smiles as she says her vows too, drinking in every word as she swears to be his wife. They hold hands, already joined together as Sean simply makes it official.

Husband and wife. David and Mary Margaret. It feels right, and they kiss under the falling snow and lick the snowflakes off each other's lips. Even so, it's a carefully restrained kiss, promising passion rather than delivering it. (That's for later, after all.)

They have a small feast inside the barn, which has become partly the main storage building and partly something like a town hall. There is food, and eventually dancing despite not having any music.

Everyone is there, perhaps for the sense of having a happy occasion for once rather than too many sad ones to count. It's a symbol too, Mary Margaret realises, that even after the end of the world there is a marriage. There is love, there is a family, there is hope.

And so when she spies Ruby and Whale kissing up against the wall behind a tractor, she's not entirely surprised. She just smiles at it, and thinks about kissing David up against a wall – or any surface, really - very, very soon.

Owen dances with Regina - a rather sweet sight. David swings Belle around and Gold smiles wistfully at that until Belle simply holds out a hand and he steps up to her as if powerless to resist.

David doesn't seem to mind, picking up Emma to dance with her in his arms instead, and then Mary Margaret does too, Emma laughing happily in her arms at every turn. Eventually, their lovely daughter falls asleep and Granny takes her with promises to look after her during the night and return her in the morning.

David takes her hand, and then there is just him and her and a dance that needs no music. Slowly, they move around in circles with no space between their bodies. They say nothing, just breathing each other in. Eventually, she lifts her head up from his shoulder and looks at him.

He looks at her with such love, such desire, such quiet happiness that she has to kiss him, has to tell him somehow that she feels exactly the same way. He sighs into the kiss as she tip-toes to deepen it, and then he sweeps her up into his arms and walks them out through the still-falling snow to their home.

II

They make it to the kitchen table. David sits her down there, and he stands between her legs as they kiss and kiss and kiss.

"Mary Margaret," he murmurs against her lips.

"Yes?" she replies, brushing her lips against his again before he pulls back to look at her and cup her cheek in his hand.

"I know I already said vows in public," he says, smiling faintly as he looks at her. "But I want to make one here too, just between the two of us."

She just nods, understanding what he means. Their wedding felt as much for everyone else as it was for them. She doesn't blame their friends for wanting to share it, quite the opposite. But she would still like something exchanged just between them, just between David and Mary Margaret.

"I, David Nolan, promise to love you and our daughter with all my heart and all my years," he vows quietly.

She swallows, wondering how she can love him this much and still feel like she falls more in love every moment with him.

"I, Mary Margaret Blanchard, promise to love you and our daughter with all my heart and all my years," she echoes, touching the scar on his chin without thinking. "My husband."

"My wife," he says, unable to keep a slight possessive tilt out of his voice. She smiles at that, then laughs as he wraps his arms around her again and kisses her without any restraint as all as he stumbles them into the bedroom and into bed.

They make a different sort of vow there, with hands and lips and bodies; over and over into the night, each time slightly different, variations in positions and emotions and pace. It's slow and leisurely, frantic and almost desperate; it's with laughter and smiles and teasing remarks, with passion and throaty moans and closed eyes; it's Mary Margaret and David and their marriage bed.

One thing remains constant, though, and they've both vowed to keep it so with all their hearts.

It's always with love.

Outside, the snow keeps falling.

II

Winter arrives with cold, silence and inevitability.

They've prepared for it, made their stockpiles of food and water, reinforced the houses and the barn, worked themselves to exhaustion and fatigue.

All they can do now is endure and survive.

There is no warmth in the sun to help them, only pale light faintly illuminating the snow-clad landscape. It's cold, so very cold, the coldest winter Mary Margaret can remember. It seems to chill them all to their bones.

Only David seems able to warm her, cocooning her with blankets and himself. They cling to each other during the cold winter nights, often keeping Emma in their bed as well to share whatever body heat they can.

Even during the day they go out as little as possible and only to do necessary work. Mostly they stay inside and stay together. It feels almost like a hibernation, with the bedrooms as their den. They play with Emma, they whisper stories to each other, they talk about the spring, they kiss and on days where Emma sleeps in her own bed, they make slow love under the blankets until they're both flushed with heat.

II

"I love you," he whispers, looking down at her through lowered eyelids. She moans softly in response, lifting her hips to meet his slow thrusts. His skin is slick with sweat and flushed with heat against her own, and she's warm, so very warm and yet wanting more.

"David," she says breathlessly, the friction between their bodies every time he moves stealing her breath. He kisses her in response, slanting his mouth across hers while his hands keep roaming every inch of skin he can manage. Her neck. Her shoulder. Her sides down to the curve of her buttocks. Her thigh. Her leg, down and then up again. Her back when she arches up against him. Her breasts when he presses her deeper into the mattress. Her chest. Her cheek. The back of her neck as she links her legs behind his back and draws him deeper inside her.

She wants more. She has him, but she wants more, not even sure where this deep desire comes from. David. Her David. Her husband. Hers, hers, hers, she knows, and she digs her fingers deeper into his shoulder with every languid thrust he makes.

He comes with a deep shudder, she with a noise he swallows into the kiss. He collapses on top of her, but she doesn't mind the weight, the heat of his body like another blanket.

When he's regained his breath, he shifts them both onto their sides, tangling her leg between his and their fingers in each other. He caresses her face as lovingly with his gaze as he just did with his fingers, she finds, and she returns it. His hair is impressive bed hair, all mussed and sticking up, yet she finds it utterly perfect.

He smiles at her as if he knows what she's thinking, leaning forward to kiss her leisurely, as if they have all the time in the world.

Perhaps they don't. But they do have all winter.

II

The winter seems to last forever. Days, weeks, months pass and the cold lingers. The snow lingers. It's as if the very world has frozen, as if after the flames the cold has come to finish the job.

But they endure. Life endures, Mary Margaret finds.

Birds move into the barn, finding warm spots to settle and hide in their feathers. The wolf howls through the winter, and they see it padding around the edge of their small community sometimes. It doesn't attack. If anything, it seems to guard, and so, they sometimes leave bones and scraps for it.

The sheep and cows and one horse they've found cling to life too, huddling together much like the humans do, finding warmth in each other.

The children play outside in the snow on days that aren't too cold, Ava, Nicholas, Paige and Owen as one merry gang. Owen seems to lure Regina along now and then, while Jefferson seems to prefer to watch Paige from afar. (He calls her Grace a lot, Mary Margaret has noticed, perhaps because he considers her a graceful or something.) Belle is always willing to play, making snowmen and snowwomen and snow-monsters with equal pleasure.

David and Mary Margaret take Emma out to play too, but very, very carefully and always wrapped up in the warmest blankets they have. Emma seems not to mind the cold, making excited noises at the snow every time.

David makes her snow dragons to pretend to slay, proclaiming himself her knight and stalwart defender. It makes Mary Margaret smile despite the cold, and she always rewards him with kisses, as a fair lady would – and then she joins them in the quest to slay the snow dragon, as she would any day.

On very cold days only David goes outside, leaving Mary Margaret and Emma to play together under the blankets.

II

Emma laughs as Mary Margaret lifts her up and then lowers her again, up again and then down again, like a swan in flight. No ugly duckling here; their daughter is already the most beautiful in the whole world, as far as Mary Margaret is concerned. (And David, of course.)

Emma babbles happily as Mary Margaret settles her against her chest. Emma is already reaching for the tiny stuffed animal David managed to find on a scavenging trip. It's a sheep and is, along with the baby blanket, Emma's favorite thing in the whole world.

Mary Margaret smiles as Emma makes soft noises to the sheep, clearly communicating something of uttermost importance.

"I quite agree," David says, and Mary Margaret and Emma glance up to see him standing in the doorway. He looks to be freezing, but still just stands there and looks at them with a soft smile.

Emma makes a very excited noise at the sight of him, stretching out her arms.

"I quite agree," Mary Margaret says, and David smiles.

"As my family commands," he says with a mock bow, kicking off his shoes and removing his outdoor clothing before slipping in under the covers with them. He kisses Emma's head softly, followed by her sheep when she holds that out to him. It makes Mary Margaret smile before he encases her mouth with his and kisses her quite, quite thoroughly.

"Hi," he says breathlessly as he pulls back.

"Hi," she agrees. He props himself up on his elbow next to her, lowering one hand to allow Emma to play with his fingers. "How is Granny?"

"Still coughing badly," he says sadly, and Mary Margaret shivers slightly at the thought of another possible death. Graham was enough. Graham was too much. "Whale is staying with her and Ruby to do what he can, so maybe that will be enough. This winter can't last much longer."

She nods, hoping he is right.

"One of the lambs had died during the night but I think the others will make it. We'll have a flock of sheep come spring," he goes on.

"Aren't you quite the shepherd?" she teases lightly.

"I thought I was a Prince Charming," he counters, and she remembers what she told him when they first met.

"You were too late to be, remember?"

"Give me a second chance?" he asks, looking down at Emma crawling slowly upwards. "Emma, don't you think mommy should give daddy a chance to be Prince Charming?"

"Cha-cha," Emma says, and David and Mary Margaret both giggle. "Dada. Mama."

David draws a sharp breath, and Mary Margaret's breath catches. Emma is looking at them both seriously, holding the sheep with one hand and David's thumb with the other.

"Emma, can you say mommy?" David says gently, but he can't quite hide the emotion in his voice.

"Mama," Emma says again.

"How about daddy?" David goes on, sounding as choked up as Mary Margaret feels.

"Dada," Emma says, and Mary Margaret tries to blink back her tears and fails.

"That's right," she manages to say. "Mama and dada. Mommy and daddy. That's us."

"That's us," David agrees, pressing a lingering kiss against Emma's head and looking at Mary Margaret with teary eyes.

Their daughter is going to grow up, they both know.

II

There is always an after, Mary Margaret knows. Always. The world ends, and even then there is an after. Time passes, after all. Nothing is frozen and nothing is forever. Days follow days, weeks follow weeks, months follow months and years will follow years.

Winter. There is an after, of course.

It's spring.


	11. What I have and what I ache for

II

_Interlude: Whale_

II

He can't cure death, Whale keeps thinking. Of course, he's always known that. He's a doctor, not a miracle worker. He does what can be done (and brilliantly), but there are limits to what he can do, as much as he abhors them and wishes he could break them.

Now the limits are breaking him.

The world is ending. People are dying, people are dead, and he can't cure death. He became a doctor to be able to do something, and now he can do nothing. He can't bring the dead back, he can't, he can't, he can't.

He can't, Whale keeps thinking, and wonders if there is even anything left he can do.

II

_Chapter eleven: What I have and what I ache for_

_Belle_

II

She dreams of nothing sometimes. The nothing that is her memories, that is her. It's like a cold, white mist enveloping her, and yet she has to find a path through it.

Sometimes, she thinks she catches glimpses of something through the mist. Just vague shapes, slipping away whenever she steps closer.

There is nothing.

Just her. Just Belle.

And then she wakes.

II

It's spring.

The sun is bright and warm on her face, and Belle lets herself bask in it. There is still some lingering snow on the ground, but there is no doubt that spring has come.

They've made it through winter. They've lost a few animals, but apart from that, they've all survived. Supplies are running low, she knows from David, but with the onset of spring, she can almost see the hope on everyone's faces.

It's enough to make her smile.

Beside her, David is grinning, Emma in his arms and Mary Margaret has one arm looped around him. Emma has grown through the winter, a visible symbol of life continuing.

"Mama," Emma says sleepily, and Mary Margaret lights up enough to rival the sun. Yes. Emma is growing, and they can all see it.

And far behind them, but watching them intently, is Gold. Belle doesn't have to look behind them to confirm it; she just knows. He always does, after all. He's always there.

And despite her friends being with her and Gold, whatever he is to her, being there, she feels lonely. It is possible to be lonely even surrounded by people, Belle has learned.

Sure, David has sort of become a good friend; one that listens to her and chats to her in equal measure. But David has a family to focus on, he has Emma and Mary Margaret and what true love must look like outside of fairytales and books.

Mary Margaret is a friend too, and Ruby is, and Ava and Nicholas rely on her a lot, but still... She is lonely, she feels lonely.

A lot of it is because of him. Gold.

She reads to him at least a few times a week, and he always seems to linger near her, and he watches her. But he's not letting her in. He keeps her at a distance without really letting her go, and she wonders why.

If he wasn't there, maybe she wouldn't think so much about what might be. Maybe she would feel less lonely if she knew this was all she could have, but she rather thinks it's not.

Mary Margaret and David have found more, after all. Much more. She watches them without staring, smiling faintly at their obvious delight in each other.

David picks a snowdrop, weaving it into Mary Margaret's hair and whispering something to her that makes her blush. She glances up at him through lowered eyelids, and then they're kissing in the spring sun with their adopted baby sleeping against David's shoulder.

It's a poster picture for romance and love and even family, and it makes Belle happy and sad all at once. She wishes she could frame it, but most of all she wishes she could have it.

What makes it worse is that sometimes, she thinks maybe she did have it. It's not a memory, not exactly. It's just a feeling, a vague sense of loss, as if she almost had it and then it was gone.

And it's tied to Gold. Did she lose him? Did she ever have him?

With that thought, she turns to see that Gold is indeed standing some distance away. He's looking at Emma with a rather strange expression, but then he notices her looking and their gazes lock.

For a moment, he looks at her with a hunger that makes her breath catch and a softness that changes his whole face. And then the mask is there and it's as if she's lost him.

He stays still as she approaches though, looking guarded.

"Belle," he says, unable to keep a certain affection from his voice.

"Gold," she says, unable to keep from smiling slightly. "Enjoying the sun?"

He seems to consider his words carefully. "It is comforting to see another season. A reminder that time passes even when it doesn't feel like it."

"You want time to pass?" she asks curiously.

"More than anything," he says earnestly, and somehow she knows it's true. "I would very much like to see charming little Emma grow into a woman, wouldn't you?"

She glances over at David and Mary Margaret, who are holding hands and are walking slowly through the streaming sunlight towards their house, probably to put Emma to bed.

"What is it about Emma?" she asks. His face closes up, and she holds up a hand as he opens his mouth to answer. "No, don't lie to me."

"I don't lie to you, Belle," he says quietly. "I don't always tell the truth, but I don't lie, not to you."

"Is that supposed to be comforting?" she asks, feeling a spark of anger that she doesn't quite know the source of. "You play with words and I am supposed to take comfort in the fact that you don't technically lie?"

He looks at her, and for a moment she thinks he might even argue. Then he lifts a hand to her cheek, holding it against her skin for just a few seconds.

"I miss you," he says, and then he walks away.

Not letting her in - yet not letting her go, Belle thinks.

She won't stand for that.

II

The house Belle now lives in she shares with Regina and Owen, as well as Ava and Nicholas. It's a strange sort of arrangement, really. Ava and Nicholas and Owen get along and play together, but Regina remains distant and aloof.

Not with Owen, no. Owen clings to Regina and Regina clings right back, and Belle wonders about that.

Apart from Owen, Regina seems to be distant from everyone else. By choice more than anything, it seems. David and Mary Margaret are friendly, but Regina always gets strange around them both.

Belle tries to be friendly as well – she knows what it's like to be alone, after all. Oh, she knows. But Regina just looks at her coolly, the ice only breaking when Owen joins them. But then it does break, shattering in fact, and behind it Regina seems entirely different. Caring. Loving. Hopeful. Almost young, in a strange way.

II

"Tell me another story," Owen begs, and Belle pauses by the door to Regina and Owen's room. It's half-closed, and she can catch a glimpse of Owen resting his head on Regina's stomach. "Tell me the one about the Queen."

"You've heard that one a hundred times, Owen," Regina protests softly, but she sounds happy nevertheless.

"I want to hear it again."

"Once upon a time there was a young girl..."

"With a terrible mother!" Owen interjects.

"Owen..."

"She was! I think the Queen just didn't understand it since it was her mother and she loved her. But dad says there are bad moms. His mom was a bad mom. That's why he was going to be the best dad he could for me."

"Owen..." Regina says again, but she sounds close to tears this time. Strange, Belle thinks. "All right. Once upon a time there was a young girl with... With a terrible mother. The young girl didn't want what her mother wanted for her. She just wanted to marry the stable boy and be happy. But the stable boy died."

"So she became the Queen," Owen says. "And Snow White's mother."

"Snow White's step-mom," Regina corrects.

"Did she have to be Snow's real mom to love her like a mom?" Owen asks, and somehow Belle knows he's not just asking about Snow White.

"No," Regina says quietly. "But the young girl had lost her heart when she lost the stable boy, so she found it hard to love. But she wanted to. She always wanted to."

"That's sad," Owen says quietly. He looks up at Regina with so much affection, and even if she can't see Regina's face, Belle imagines it's mirrored there. "Do you think she can get her heart back and love again?"

"I hope she can, Owen," Regina says and he smiles.

"I think she can," he says with the determination of youth. "She'll live happily ever after just like the prince and Snow White will once we get them back to the Enchanted Forest."

Regina puts a hand on his head, and Belle tip-toes away then, leaving them to their fairy tales and hope for happy endings.

II

Ruby is often up early in the morning, Belle has learned. So sometimes when she wakes abruptly from her dreams, she joins Ruby outside and helps her with morning chores.

This morning Ruby is later than usual, her hair messy and her clothes seemingly put on in a hurry. Belle isn't exactly surprised when she spots Dr. Whale trying to discreetly sneak out of Ruby and Granny's small house a few minutes later.

Spring seems to bring out something in people, Belle reflects. Maybe it's surviving the winter or maybe it's the knowledge that beyond their small community, ruin and death lies.

And sometimes, death touches them too, and she glances over at Graham's grave. There are always flowers there now that spring has come. No one forgets even if they choose to focus on the positives. (They have to, after all. The world ended. That's enough negative to choke them all.)

"How's Granny doing?" Belle asks as Ruby pauses to glance over at her house with worry.

"Better," Ruby says distantly. "Victor... That is, Dr. Whale, he thinks that she'll do better now that spring has come. But next winter... I don't know."

Belle steps closer and then suddenly Ruby is leaning against her, and Belle pulls her into a hug. Ruby makes the occasional soft sob, but is mostly silent as Belle rubs her back again and again.

"I used to only think about getting away from her, from Storybrooke, from everything," Ruby says quietly after a few minutes. "Now all I can think about is wanting her to stay with me. Is that selfish?"

"No," Belle whispers, thinking about Graham, about how Gold looks at her and how much she would miss it if he was lost, about David and Mary Margaret and how impossible it seems to be to imagine them apart now. "It's hard to let go when you actually see what you have."

And what you might have, she doesn't say, but still feels. What might be can be just as alluring as what is.

She thinks she might finally understand why Gold keeps looking at her despite never making a move on her.

That leaves her, then.

II

The mist snakes around the houses, pale and white, as Belle makes her way to Mary Margaret and David's small house as evening fall. Candles are burning in the window, adding to the homey and rustic feel of it.

David opens the door a few moments after she knocks, giving her a smile.

"Belle," he says. "Mary Margaret and Emma will be back soon."

"I was actually hoping to talk to you," she says, and he opens the door more fully to allow her to come inside. "Thanks."

"Any time," he says warmly. It's warm inside too, as she slips into the house, holding her hands over the wood-burning oven for a moment before sitting down at the table. David sits down across from her, and she can see he's been working on putting together a bird house.

"Mary Margaret likes birds," he says by way of explanation; the only explanation needed, really. "What did you want to talk about?"

"I need seduction advice," she says, and David splutters and his eyes widen. She blushes but keeps her head held high.

"Um," he says. "You want to... Um."

"Seduce a man," she manages to say, wishing she had books she where could read about this instead, but she doesn't. And she has no one else she dares to ask.

"Okay," David says very slowly, still looking confused and more than a little awkward. "Um."

"I don't remember ever seducing anyone," she says hurriedly. "I don't know how. I just thought... You're a man, and you and Mary Margaret..."

"Belle," David cuts in, putting a hand on hers. "I would love to help you, but all Mary Margaret had to do was look at me and I was thoroughly seduced. She didn't have to do anything. She just had to be herself."

"Oh," Belle says, feeling slightly deflated.

"Maybe that's it, though," David says after a moment, his eyes kind. "If he truly likes you, it will be enough that you're yourself. Be Belle. How can Gold resist that?"

"I didn't say it was Gold," she says, blushing again. David smiles faintly.

"I'm an amnesiac, not blind," he jokes softly, and squeezes her hand.

"The amnesiac leading the amnesiac," she jokes back, and he smiles again.

"It's strange," he says thoughtfully after a moment. "Sometimes I actually forget that I have no memories of my life prior to all this."

"Don't you wish you knew who you were?" she asks curiously.

"Sometimes," he says honestly. "But a very good friend once told me that it is who I am now that matters."

Judging by his sad tone of voice and the faraway look on his face, she guesses that friend was Graham.

"I'm a husband," David goes on, and he smiles softly and so happily that his whole face lights up. "I'm a father. I have a family. That's who I am."

She's a friend, Belle thinks. That she definitely is. She's a reader. She's a survivor. What else can she be?

"There is one thing you could try," David says after a moment, as if the thought had just occurred to him.

"What?"

"Mary Margaret told me I should kiss her, so I did," he says, smiling as if remembering it. "You could always try that."

As if on cue, the door opens, and Mary Margaret enters with Emma in her arms. She gives Belle a quick, friendly smile, and then David a tender kiss as he rises to greet her.

"Hi," she says, and he smiles at that as if they share some sort of secret before giving her a kiss in return.

"Hi," he echoes, lifting Emma from her arms. "Hi Emma, daddy's favorite girl in the whole universe since mommy is his favorite woman."

"Dada," Emma says, digging her tiny hands into the cloth of his shirt. He smiles at that, sitting down with Emma in his lap. Mary Margaret sits down next to him and takes his hand, and they exchange a smile that manages to be intimate in a way Belle can't quite put to words.

"I should go," Belle says apologetically.

"You don't have to do that," David says, looking up at her.

"Stay for dinner," Mary Margaret suggests warmly, and David nods. Even Emma makes a soft noise.

"See?" David says. "The Nolan-Blanchard-Swan family has voted and you're staying for dinner."

"Thank you," Belle replies, feeling strangely lighter somehow. Maybe David (and Graham before that) are right. Maybe it's who she is now that matters, and who she is now doesn't have to be lonely unless she chooses to be.

Maybe it's not about knowing yourself. Maybe it's about trusting yourself.

II

As David goes to tuck Emma into bed, Mary Margaret watches them go with a soft smile and bright eyes.

"You're lucky," Belle says, then bites her lip. "Sorry, I meant..."

"I know," Mary Margaret says, still smiling. "I am. I know that. Emma and David, they're..."

"A happy ending?" Belle suggests, giving Mary Margaret a smile. "I like reading about them."

"Me too," Mary Margaret says. "We read fairytales to Emma sometimes. Regina gave us a book with them. I think Snow White is up next, after we finish Beauty and the Beast."

"She must like fairytales," Belle remarks. "She tells them to Owen quite often. Stories about the Enchanted Forest and the Queen who lost her stable boy."

Mary Margaret looks at her oddly for a moment, then seems to let the thought go and just smiles instead.

"It's nice to think there might be happy endings," she says, and Belle nods. It is. "Even if fairytales are just stories, they're stories that give us hope."

"Yes," Belle agrees eagerly. She thinks about all the books she's gathered, all the stories she's read. They all give her something. That's what most don't understand. They're books, but when she reads them, they're something more. She makes them something more by reading them.

"Is the book club in session?" David asks, leaning against the doorway to the bedroom and smiling at them. How long he's been standing there, Belle has no idea. "Can I join?"

"Of course," Mary Margaret says, and he walks towards her with bright, smiling eyes. "Did Emma fall asleep all right?"

"Out like a light before I could even reach for a book or a toy," he says, slipping down on the chair next to Mary Margaret and taking her hand. "We'll have to continue the tale of Belle and Rumpelstiltskin the Beast some other evening."

"Rumpelstiltskin?" Belle repeats, feeling something cold at the back of her neck. For a moment, something seems to reach for her through the mist that is her memories. But then it is gone.

"Yes," David says, unaware of her reaction. "In this version of the story, apparently Rumpelstiltskin is the beast."

"Oh," she says, nodding slightly. "Maybe I could read it one day."

"Of course," Mary Margaret says, and smiles. "Maybe it's a story you'll like."

II

It's late when Belle heads back into the night, smiling faintly to herself. She feels lighter, but most of all she feels more determined.

She wants a chance at, if not a happy ending, a happy part of her story.

So it's not her own house she finds her way to. It's Gold's, which is also one of their storage houses. No one dared invite themselves to live with him, so that's how it worked out. Not that he seemed to mind. He seems to relish making people come to him, but seems to think they never would unless they have something they need.

She knocks, and waits and bites her lip before finally, he opens.

"Belle," he says. He sounds half delighted, half cautious. "I was expecting you earlier."

"I had dinner with Mary Margaret and David," she tells him.

"Oh," he says, nodding slightly. "Good. They're good people."

She looks at him, noticing the longing in his eyes and the way he very, very slightly leans towards her.

"You should kiss me," she blurts out. His eyes widen, and then he glances down at her lips as if he's thinking about it. That is enough for her, and she tip-toes and kisses him very, very gently.

For a moment, they stay like that. Her lips on his, him perfectly still. Then very, very gently he kisses her back, his lips soft against hers.

He sighs as she steps even closer, then puts his hands on her arms and gently breaks the kiss. He looks at her, swallowing slightly, and she knows he would like to kiss her again very, very much.

"I can't..." he says, trailing off. "Belle..."

"You don't want me?" she says, and he shakes his head furiously.

"I want you so much it frightens me," he admits, and she swallows. "That's why I can't, Belle. I want more than you can give me right now. I want you."

"This is me," she says softly, leaning in. "I may not remember who I was, but I know who I am."

"You don't know who I am," he says, pressing his forehead against hers. "You don't know... I did something unforgivable. I'm still doing something unforgivable."

"Who are you saying can't forgive it, you or me?" she asks, and he's silent for a long time. "You can't forgive yourself, can you? So you think no one else will."

"I'm afraid," he says quietly, so very quietly.

"Then let me be brave," she counters, and kisses him again. Not as softly this time. She dares be slightly demanding this time, tugging at his lips and not just brushing them. His hands remain on her arms, but digging softly into her skin now.

"Belle," he murmurs.

"Yes," she says, smiling against his lips before pulling away. "I believe I still owe you a book-reading tonight."

"You don't have to do that," he says, cupping her cheek so gently it is as if he's afraid to break her.

"A deal's a deal," she says firmly, and he looks at her with eyes that suddenly seem old and sad.

"A deal's a deal," he agrees, and she steps past him and inside.

II

She dreams, but only vaguely, as if her dreams are wrapped in mist. There is something there, she knows, something beyond the nothingness. Something she can't see. Something she can't remember.

Something she can't reach.

Her story. It's there, somewhere in the mist. She doesn't know how it started, or what chapters have come before. She only knows what is now.

Her story.

She doesn't need to know the beginning to decide the end, she thinks faintly, and blinks against the sudden light.

II

Light.

She blinks against it some more, slowly focusing and realizing she's not sleeping and not dreaming. She's tucked into a blanket on the couch with her head propped up on pillows and Gold sitting right next to her and watching a candle burn.

She was reading. She must have fallen asleep, she realizes, and rather than waking her, he's tucked her in. It's dark outside, and she has no idea what time it is.

"Is it time to wake up?" she asks sleepily.

"No," Gold says kindly. "Sleep, Belle. It's not time to wake up for a long time yet."

So she does; sleeping through the night and dreaming of nothing.


	12. Time calls your name / you're not the same

II

_Interlude: Mary Margaret_

II

Before the end of the world, Mary Margaret walks around with the strangest sense of having lost something. 

She feels hollow. Empty. It is as if something has been ripped from her, and her body feels it. She aches. She hurts. 

But she can't remember losing anything. She's Mary Margaret Blanchard. All she has now is what she's ever had, a lonely life while looking for true love in all the wrong places and a dedication to children while longing for her own. 

That's all she can remember, and yet her heart doesn't seem to recognize her memories. 

The world ends.

Mary Margaret finds what she can't remember losing. 

II

_Chapter twelve: Time calls your name / you're not the same_

_David_

II

They all have nightmares sometimes. It's almost impossible not to, given what they've seen and lived through.

David's nightmares always seem to be the same. There is blood, there is pain, and there is Emma gone from him, from them. There is Mary Margaret crying over him, trying to kiss him back to life. 

The dream always ends there, leaving him to wake up with a painful gasp. Sometimes, Mary Margaret is awake, cradling his face and kissing him softly until he feels alive again. Sometimes, she is sleeping and he pulls her closer and kisses her skin until he knows he's not dying. 

And the nightmare loses its power for now, hiding at the back of his mind and biding its time. 

And time seems to pass, as time is meant to.

II

With spring turning to summer, they become farmers. Not just farmers – Mary Margaret and Ruby turn out to be quite good hunters, and Sean does well with trapping – but farming becomes the bulk of the work and the activity. They sow. They repair fences and make meadows for their livestock. They farm.

David likes it, he finds. He enjoys watching the sheep, seeing their crops begin to grow and even finds he doesn't mind the hard work. Maybe he had a farm in that life he doesn't remember, or maybe it just feels natural to him. 

They still scavenge from the outskirts of Storybrooke (he doesn't want to risk anyone going further for now, especially with the faint shaking that sometimes seems to emanate from there) as well as farms further away. There is no sign of others, and it strengthens the sense that it's just them and nothing else left of the world. 

It probably can't last and maybe sooner or later the world (what remains of it) will come to them. But for now, this is their life. 

It's not a bad one.

II

“You caught a deer again,” David says admiringly as he regards the deer carcass that Sean and Ruby are hanging up, and Mary Margaret blushes faintly as she walks over to him. “Are you sure you weren't some badass archer in a former life?”

She gives him a pointed look, but she can't hide the pleased smile that is making her lips curve. 

“It was an easy shot,” she says and he scoffs in disbelief. “It was! I think a wolf had spooked it. It wasn't looking at me at all.”

The wolf, he thinks faintly, and something howls in his mind for a moment. Then it passes, but Mary Margaret still gives him an odd look. 

He smiles at her, then steps closer and pulls her into his arms. She leans into it, resting her forehead against his. 

“My archer wife,” he says fondly, and she smiles as he steals a kiss. 

“My farmer husband,” she counters, stealing a kiss right back. “Oh, and Emma's knight in jeans and t-shirt.”

He smiles at that, knowing he would happily take up a sword to defend Emma any day. “That would make you queen to our little princess.”

“What a child you will have,” Gold says, and they glance over to see him standing a few feet away and regarding them with a look that seems to be half fondness and half possession, as if he's somehow claimed ownership. “Archer, farmer, knight and princess. A child from true love. Who knows what she might do?”

David narrows his eyes. He has noticed Gold's fixation with Emma, and has wondered if Gold has lost a child or something similar to be so interested. 

“Don't worry, dearie,” Gold says as he notices the look David is giving him. “I am simply invested in your future. In her future.”

“Why?” Mary Margaret asks, looking so fiercely protective it makes David's heart skip a beat. She's so very Emma's mommy, every inch of her, and it becomes her.

“Because she is the future,” Gold says, and David wonders at that. 

II

The future. He thinks about it sometimes, lying awake with Mary Margaret draped over him, caressing her skin slowly. He isn't sure if there is a future in this world. There is survival, but beyond that? 

What do they have to offer Emma? Love, yes. So much love. A sort of shelter, yes. He's trying to make that for her, for Mary Margaret, for them all. A life, yes. A place where she can grow up and become a woman.

But a future?

He doesn't know about that, and it worries him. 

II

It used to be Graham that Sean would go to, but with Graham gone, it slowly becomes David more and more. 

“Dad kept talking to me about my future,” Sean says darkly, and David gives the younger man a soft pat on the back. “That's why, when Ashley became pregnant, he convinced me I had to stay away. For my future. What future?”

“Sean...”

“Ashley could have been my future,” Sean says, a world of regret in his voice. “Dad's dead, my future is in ruins and Ashley's missing. I should have been there for her. Maybe I could have saved her and saved our child.”

“Maybe she has survived somewhere else,” David says comfortingly. “I know you're still looking for her. That's why I haven't said anything about your 'secret' trips to Storybrooke.”

“You know?”

“Of course.”

Sean scoffs, but even so, there is a faint look of longing. “Graham always used to say you were soft-hearted and unashamed of it.”

David thinks of Graham and feels a sharp tug to his heart. “He was right.”

Sean nods slowly. “Thanks, David.” 

“When you find her... Don't let her go this time.”

“I won't,” Sean promises quietly, then looks up at him. “You're lucky, you know.”

David thinks about how he would feel losing Emma, losing Mary Margaret, and baulks at even the thought. No. No. He could never lose them. He would rather die; he would die for them, in fact. 

“I know,” he manages to say, glancing over at Emma crawling towards Mary Margaret in the grass. His family. “Believe me, I know.”

II

It's a good summer. Sunny, yet with enough rain that the crops seem to thrive. The hunting is bountiful too, and Leroy and Sean finally take a trip to the harbor and returned with canned fish and fishing equipment and even a shipment of clothes they've found. (Which is good, since their clothes are getting worn and they don't exactly have shops to browse.)

It's good. It's all pretty good, almost as if by magic, except of course that magic doesn't exist. Perhaps it's simply luck. It certainly feels sometimes as if the moment he found Emma, his luck changed. He found Mary Margaret afterwards, a happy ending in all the misery. They made a home.

They did lose Graham, a loss that still pains him. But he has to admit that all things considered, they've been very lucky. The world ended, yet here they are, living on after it. Perhaps there is hope for happy endings after all. 

Maybe that makes Emma his good luck charm in addition to being his beloved daughter that he couldn't possibly love any more, that is his in all the ways that matter, that is family by heart even if not by birth. 

II

No parent should have to miss their baby's first steps, David thinks, and he is there for Emma's. 

“Come on, Emma,” Mary Margaret coaxes and their baby girl looks at her kneeling a few steps away with a pout. “Come to mommy.”

“Walk to mommy,” David echoes, helping Emma stand up and kissing her head. “It's just a few steps. You can do it. You're Emma, the boldest snow-dragon-slaying princess in all the lands, you can do it.”

Emma looks ready to have a crying fit. Then her jaw sets in a way he knows his does too, determination radiating from her. Slowly, slowly, she lifts one foot and puts it down. 

He lets go, and this time she doesn't fall. She takes another step, and another, and then she falls into Mary Margaret's arms. 

Mary Margaret beams, lifting Emma up and hugging her again and again. He laughs happily, taking a long step towards them to hug them both. He thinks he might burst with the happiness and the pride of it all. His baby girl, walking. 

“Your first steps,” he says to Emma, who babbles happily. “You're going to be walking around making trouble for mommy and daddy and having adventures in no time.”

“David,” Mary Margaret laughs. “Don't encourage her.”

He adopts an expression of exaggerated sadness, which only makes Mary Margaret laugh more.

“Don't listen to mommy,” he whispers conspiratorially to Emma. “She makes trouble for daddy all the time and she's very fond of adventures.”

“Mama,” Emma says, as if she agrees. 

“Exactly,” he says, smiling at Emma and then at Mary Margaret. “You're going to be just like your mother, I know it.”

“I don't know,” Mary Margaret says, giving him a look that despite being fairly innocent, still manages to make him think rather indecent thoughts. “I think Emma will be a lot like her father.”

He pulls her even closer, brushing his nose against her hair for a moment and drawing a satisfied breath. 

“I guess we'll find out,” he says affectionately, kissing Mary Margaret’s temple and then the top of Emma's head. 

They're going to be there every step of Emma's way, after all; somehow, that feels just as it should be. 

II

He can't quite figure out Regina. 

Oh, her love and growing affection for Owen is plain for all to see, and it is rather like watching someone become a mother in slow-motion. But her attitude towards Mary Margaret is a mystery. Sometimes, Regina is just cool and aloof and he thinks he can even detect a hint of anger behind her walls. But other times she seems to look at Mary Margaret in a way that seems like longing and maybe even affection. 

Odd. It is almost as if she's two people at once. 

Maybe they all have a certain amount of duality to all of them, though. There is a part of Mary Margaret that seems to come out now and then, a fierce, protective and bold woman that makes his heart race and a part of his mind sigh happily. 

He even lures it out of her sometimes, kissing her until she jumps him and links her legs around his hips, the force of it pushing him backwards against a wall as she encases his mouth with hers.

He likes that part of her; he likes it very, very much and always kisses her back just as fiercely. 

And he can't deny there is something in him too, something almost arrogantly sure of itself, a part of him that makes him wonder just who he was with his memories intact. 

So perhaps Regina isn't all that peculiar after all. Yet he can't help but wonder which part of her will come out winning. 

II

“David,” Regina says stiffly as he sets the box of supplies for her, Owen, Belle, Nicholas and Ava down on the table. 

“Good morning, Regina,” he says in a friendly tone. “Owen still doing all right?”

“Yes,” she says, and her face softens. “He liked the toy horse you carved for him very much.”

“I'm glad,” he says. She looks at him as if trying to detect any sense of insincerity, and he wonders what makes it so hard for her to trust simple generosity. “How are you holding up, Regina?”

She looks at him for a long moment. “You really don't remember, do you?”

“Remember what?” he asks, feeling his head spin for a moment. 

“I knew you,” she says slowly, as if weighing her words. “David Nolan. I didn't think you would ever wake up.”

“You knew me,” he says intently, stepping closer. “Did I... Did I have anyone?”

She smiles, but there is no joy in it. “That would have been a terrible blow to Mary Margaret, wouldn't it? If you were actually married, if you were weak-willed and not half the man you are now, unable to trust yourself to make the right choices. It would have broken little Mary Margaret's heart.”

He feels dizzy, breathless, his mind for a moment seemingly someone else's. David Nolan, David Nolan was... What? He can't breathe, and a part of his mind seems to howl at him. 

“No,” Regina says quietly, almost sadly. His mind clears. “No. David Nolan had a mother he had lost years ago, a stepfather he had fallen out with and a former fiancé he had never really loved. Mary Margaret is your only wife.” 

“Oh,” he says, closing his eyes for a moment and feeling strangely relieved, as if he's escaped something. “You're sure?”

“Yes,” she says quietly. She closes her eyes, drawing a deep shuddering breath before opening her eyes again. She looks strangely relieved, he finds. “Yes. I'm sure. You can stay your charming self with your little family, there is nothing stopping you.”

“Thank you,” he says sincerely, and she gives him a ghost of a smile. 

II

Emma is sleeping on a blanket in the grass, her toy sheep tucked against her chest, as he gets home, with Mary Margaret hanging up the laundry just a few feet away. He admires them quietly for a moment, his golden baby girl and his dark-haired beauty. His family.

Mary Margaret turns around just as he reaches her, smiling up at him.

“David, hi. I was just...”

He pulls her to him and kisses her, lifting her up and swinging her around. She laughs into the kiss, the sound of it delicious as he tugs at her lips and she parts them willingly. He feels breathless, and makes sure she is too before he lowers her back on her feet.

“David,” she says, a failed attempt at stern given that she's smiling and that her cheek is warm against his hand.

“You did get to say 'hi',” he defends himself with. 

“But you didn't,” she points out, biting her lower lip in that way that always makes him want to suck on it. 

“You're right,” he says, angling his head. “Hi.”

The kiss is soft and gentle this time, brushing their lips together almost teasingly until he does exactly what he's been wanting to; he catches her lower lip between his and sucks softly, making her moan into his mouth. 

She remains pressed tightly against him even as they break the kiss, rubbing their noses together and linking hands. 

“What's going on?” she asks him, and he has to smile fondly at the way she always seems to be able to read him. 

“Apparently Regina knew me before the coma,” he says, and Mary Margaret bites her lip again. He knows that sometimes, she has feared that someone else might have a claim on him. “She said I didn't have a family.”

“Oh,” Mary Margaret says breathlessly. “I'm sorry.”

“No,” he says firmly, caressing her ear lovingly. “Don't be. I found my family. I found Emma. I found you.” 

'I will always find you,' his mind hums with for a moment, then it is gone; and he kisses Mary Margaret again until he forgets that strange, stray thought. 

II

Whenever he holds Emma, he feels happier than he can put to words. And when Mary Margaret is there with him, he's pretty sure there are no words that could ever do it justice. 

Family. He thinks that might be all he's ever wanted. He might not remember, but he still _knows_ in a way that feels bone-deep, just like being with Mary Margaret always feels _right_. 

He might not remember. But he trusts his heart, and Emma and Mary Margaret have both claimed it. 

II

“Good morning, Mr. Nolan,” Gold says, and David glances up to see Gold standing a few feet away. He straightens up from the vegetable patch he's been tending, feeling his back groan in reply.

“Morning, Gold,” he says. “What can I do for you?”

Gold looks strangely hesitant, none of his normal confidence. “You and Mary Margaret... How does that work? How...”

David has a flash to Belle asking him something similar just weeks ago, and bites the inside of his mouth to keep from smiling faintly. How did he become the go to dating counsel when his dating experience (that he remembers) is all of one, he has no idea. Okay, that one is staggeringly successful despite not being dating in the traditional sense, but still. 

“How do we make it work?” he asks. 

“Yes.”

“We love each other,” he says softly, and Gold nods as if he knows that. “We trust that love and we're honest with each other.”

Gold looks as if he's staring at something far away. “A woman once tore out her own heart rather than be with me. Figuratively, of course.”

“Right,” David says, wondering what else hides in Gold's past. “But that wasn't Belle, was it?”

“No,” Gold says quietly. “Belle is... Belle was a brief flicker of light in the darkness, once.” 

David nods slowly. “What happened?”

“I let her go. I thought she was dead for a long time.”

“You honestly want my advice?” David asks, and Gold looks at him.

“Yes. You and Mary Margaret have love enough to bottle it,” Gold says, his eyes glimmering for a moment. 

“Love might not be easy, but fight for it anyway. Because once you have it, it can't be replaced.”

Gold seems to consider that for a few moments. “Spoken like a true Prince Charming. Thank you for the advice, Mr. Nolan.”

David watches him go thoughtfully. Gold has a depth beyond the persona he puts on, David is well aware by now. He can't quite get past Gold's walls himself (apart from the occasional glimpse like now), but he knows Belle is lying siege to them quite effectively and with a quiet determination. 

And while anyone who thinks they know Gold might think that a hopeless battle, David is getting to know Belle and thinks that maybe, maybe the odds are far more even than people suspects.

II

Sometimes, Belle or Ruby gets to babysit Emma and David and Mary Margaret have date nights or date days together. Just the two them, devoting some time to each other between work and raising Emma. 

This is a date day. 

Mary Margaret smiles as he takes her hand, leading her further into the forest. It's a warm, sunny summer's day, the sort of day made for picnics and kissing one's wife in the grass. 

Good thing he has plans for both. 

The forest is quiet as they walk through it, sunlight streaming through the leaves and occasionally catching them as they pass. Framed by the sunlight, Mary Margaret looks out of this world, as if she belongs to another and is simply on loan to this one. 

Yet she is here with him, and he pauses in a patch of sunlight to kiss her; tasting the warmth of summer on her lips. She links her arms around his neck and kisses him right back, the picnic basket pressed painfully between them but neither cares.

It takes several kissing pauses before they find their way to his intended destination; a small lake surrounded by trees. Mary Margaret smiles as she spots it, watching him as he puts down a blanket and then their lunch with great ceremony. 

“You're never going to stop doing this, are you?” she asks fondly.

“Do what?”

“Be Prince Charming. Do this sort of thing. Woo me when you already have me.”

“Never,” he promises, and she pulls his head down and kisses him fiercely. He pulls her body against his in response, making her give the sort of throaty moan he's gotten used to from her, but still makes his pulse quicken. As he parts his lips, she practically licks into him, tasting him and making him moan in encouragement.

He lets his hands roam the shapes and curves of her body, pausing whenever he finds exposed skin. She makes soft sighs in appreciation, and he's becoming increasingly determined to draw other sounds out of her too. 

She is panting lightly as she pulls away, and he lifts his arms obediently as she tugs on his shirt. She peels it off slowly, kissing her way up his chest as she does until the shirt falls to the ground and he catches her lips with his again. 

He loves kissing her, he thinks distantly. He loves the sensation of her lips against his, be it softly, lightly, teasingly, demanding or with so much desire it heightens his too. He loves the warmth of her mouth and the way her tongue explores his mouth. He loves the familiarity of it all, the sense of having kissed her a thousand times before, and the always present want, the sense that he could kiss her a million times more and it wouldn't be enough. 

Her head falls backwards as he lowers his mouth to her neck, sucking lightly on her skin while pulling at her top. He yanks it off far more impatiently than her and she chuckles, the sound of it reverberating against his lips. 

He discards her bra with the same impatience, lowering his head to her left breast as she arches into him. She makes a variety of impatient, encouraging noises as he flicks his tongue across her skin, then sucks lightly and even catches her nipple between his teeth briefly. 

Her cheeks are flushed as he lifts his head again, her breasts rising and falling tantalizingly with her uneven breath. She watches him, then lowers her hands to the waistline of his jeans. He watches in fascination as she unzips his fly and pulls his jeans down past his hips, then hooks her fingers into his boxers. 

He swallows, his mouth suddenly dry as she pushes his underwear down too, kneeling down by him. She looks up at him, a brief almost wicked smile, and then her mouth is on him and he pretty much whimpers her name. 

He's fairly certain the noises he's making are about as undignified as they come, but he doesn't care. She alternates between licking him and brushing her hands along the length of him, and taking him more fully into her mouth; all of it is maddening. He watches her too, unable to tear his eyes away from her, especially the way she sometimes glances up at him to gauge his reaction. 

He's hard and panting by the time she stands up, looking at him through lowered eyelids. He takes a moment to compose himself, then efficiently steps out of his shoes and jeans and underwear before pulling impatiently at her leggings. 

She grins, but her lips quickly part in a soundless gasp as he slides a hand down between her legs, palming her, and yes, turnabout is decidedly fair play, he decides. Her head falls against his shoulder, and he uses his other hand to shift her until they're standing on the blanket. Gently, he lowers them both down, Mary Margaret underneath him and him slightly on his side. 

She closes her eyes as he yanks her leggings and underwear completely off, pressing against the palm of his hand. He dips his head down to kiss her leisurely, her lips parted against his as he draws circles with his thumb and very, very slowly presses a finger into her. 

She arches and then bucks against him, her nipples hard as they brush his chest. He doesn't let up, kissing her and using his fingers inside her until she bites down hard on his lower lip.

“David,” she says into his mouth, all want and desire and need, and so, so much impatience. He chuckles, then groans as she presses herself more firmly against him. He imagines she can feel how hard he is pressing against her stomach and is deliberately egging him on. 

Right then. If that's how she wants it, if that's how she's making him want it...

He lifts her leg past his hips, removing his hand and thrusting into her hard and quick. She lifts her other leg in response, drawing him in deeper and sucking on his bottom lip. Her fingers are twisting and pulling at the hairs at the back of his neck, and he can feel the sharpness of her nails every time he thrusts hard and deep into her.

His hands roam her body greedily, enjoying the feel of her skin and the friction between their bodies as they move at an increasingly frantic pace. The sun is warm on his back and she's warm underneath him, and he has to close his eyes against the blinding heat as he buries himself in her and comes hard and fast. 

Mary Margaret kisses his shoulder soothingly as he slowly regains his senses and sense of time and place. Her body is still tense underneath his, poised, and so he lowers his hand between their bodies, and claims her lips in an insistent kiss. Stroking her, caressing her, it doesn't take him long to bring her over the edge, her body shaking with the force of her orgasm. 

Yes, he thinks possessively, the part of him that seems to think he owns her as much as she owns him coming to the surface again. 

She kisses him softly as she recovers, shifting over to her side. He moves his arms around her, holding her close as they lie in the sunlight. Their clothes are scattered around them in the grass, but he feels no particular need for them with the warmth of the sun and the shared heat of their bodies. 

He falls asleep like that, blanketed in her and in the sun.

II

He dreams about her. His wife. 

It's summer and he's kissing her underneath the trees, flowers in her hair and sunlight on her face. Her lips are soft and yielding, almost teasingly so, as he knows it's only a matter of time before they become far more demanding and insistent.

He wants her. Wants her here and now, in the grass, in the sun, in the summer that is the start of their lives together. 

He would tell her that, but he's fairly certain she already knows from the way his body is pressing against hers, the way she tugs at her lips, the way he caresses her skin with his fingertips.

“Snow?” he murmurs, a question he already knows the answer to.

“Charming,” she murmurs back. “ _Yes_.”

II

“Snow?” he murmurs, waking abruptly and squinting against the sun. It was just a dream, he realizes, another strange dream. He's David. David, and his wife is... Isn't there. He's alone on the blanket, he realizes, and looks around in alarm.

Mary Margaret is standing in the lake, water to her waist. His breath catches at the sight of her, like a siren that he could never resist. 

As she notices his gaze on her, she blushes slightly but doesn't move. He gets on his feet and walks towards her, and she stays perfectly still and just waits. 

When he reaches her, he pauses for a moment, just letting his gaze travel her and the way drops of water clings to her skin. She bites her lip as he lifts his gaze to her face, still just looking. 

“Hi,” he says softly. 

“Hi,” she says, a smiling tugging at her lips as if she knows what follows. She's right of course, and he lowers his head and kisses her lovingly. She tip-toes to meet the kiss, but he gets a better idea, lifting her up instead. She locks her legs around his waist as he keeps kissing her, walking them further into the lake until they're deep into the water. It's warm, though not quite as warm as the air, but still warm enough to feel comfortable. 

They kiss each other thoroughly, her mouth encasing his and her tongue brushing his again and again. He feels breathless and yet unwilling to break the kiss, breathing her in. The water makes her skin slick under his palms and fingers, and the way she's pressed against him and grinding slightly against his hips is making him increasingly hard. 

“Mary Margaret?” he prompts.

“David,” she murmurs against his lips in response, knowing what he's asking. “ _Yes_.”

She gasps into the kiss as he lifts her up and then lowers her on him inch by inch until he's buried deep inside her. Her muscles clench around him, making him groan into the kiss. He uses his hands to support her, enjoying the curve of her buttocks against his palms as he moves inside her in slow, languid strokes, occasionally lifting her to then slide into her again in one long push. 

They take their time, making love almost lazily, kissing each other leisurely and enjoying every sensation until they're drowning in it. He manages to coax her over first this time, making her bite down on his shoulder as she shudders and comes. She clings to him as he follows, murmuring something in his ear that he's too lost to hear. 

She bites his earlobe softly as he begins to breathe normally again, then pulls back to look at him. Whatever she sees in his face makes her smile, kissing him with her lips turned upwards. 

“I suppose we should get back,” she says softly, but he shakes his head.

“We have to dry off first,” he points out, bobbing her up and down in the water as if to make his point (and enjoying the feeling of her body moving against his as a bonus). “Since you lured me into the lake like some sort of siren and all.”

“Mmm,” she says, making a slightly husky moan as he lowers his head to the point where her neck meets her shoulder and sucks lightly on her skin. “That might take some time. Any ideas how we'll pass the time?”

He does, as it turns out.

II

They're both quite sore with bruises and marks in interesting places as they finally head home, the sun low on the horizon. Belle takes a look at them and seems torn between amusement and embarrassment, but does an admirable job of keeping a straight face. 

“Emma was a complete doll,” she assures them. “Regina and Owen came by and read to her. Jefferson came by and gave her a hat.”

“A what?” David asks, confused.

“A hat,” Belle says. “I know, I found it a bit odd too. But he insisted she had it, and it was just a hat, so I didn't see the harm.”

“Don't worry about it,” Mary Margaret says kindly. “Thank you for looking after her.”

“My pleasure,” Belle says sincerely, and for a moment her face is bright with longing. David squeezes her shoulder comfortingly; he didn't even know how much he wanted a child until he suddenly had one, but now he can't imagine his life without her.

As Belle heads home or to Gold's (David isn't sure), Mary Margaret takes his hand and they pad into Emma's bedroom together. Their daughter is sleeping, looking peaceful and happy. Her sheep is firmly placed in a top hat, which David supposes must be the hat Jefferson gave her, apparently in Emma's thinking a good bed for a toy sheep. 

Mary Margaret leans down, tucking a golden curl behind Emma's ear. She looks so motherly doing it it's impossible to imagine her as anything but a mother, Emma's mother. 

“What is it?” Mary Margaret asks, noticing his gaze.

“Just looking at Emma's mommy,” he says and she smiles at him with such happiness it makes her look even more beautiful, even though that should be impossible. 

“Charming,” she jokes softly, and he blinks at her for a few moments, his mind buzzing.

“Right,” he says, and wonders at just how right it does feel. 

II

He dreams again. Emma is in his arms in the dream, and he knows he has to protect her. He just knows, knows it as surely as she is his daughter. 

There are men trying to hurt her in the dream, but he takes the hurt for her. He bleeds for her and is ready to die for her. 

Emma. His baby girl. 

He has to let her go. 

“Find us,” he begs her. 

He lets her go then, and it is far more painful than the wound that follows, the one that leaves him bleeding on the floor. Dying, unable to open his eyes even when his wife finds him and pleads for him to come back to her. 

He can't even tell her he would happily die a million times for her, for Emma, for his family. Oh, how he wants to come back to her, wants to find Emma, wants to... 

Wants to live.

II

Emma is crying.

He blinks, for a moment completely disoriented and expecting to wake up on the floor. The dream unravels sharply, leaving him only with a strange sense of unease and no clear memories of it at all. As his brain starts to clear the fog in his mind, he realizes he is in bed with Mary Margaret in his arms, and with the sound of Emma softly crying coming from her room. 

He groans, then slips out of bed, pausing only to kiss the back of Mary Margaret's neck. She sighs, but sleeps on, and so he pads bare-foot in his pyjamas pants into Emma's room. 

Emma stops crying the moment she sees him in the dim light, lifting her arms towards him. He smiles tiredly, then lifts her up and sits down in the rocking chair. He can see tears streaking her cheeks, and he brushes them away gently. 

Emma settles against his naked chest, making a few soft noises as he kisses her head.

“What's the matter, baby girl?” he asks softly. 

“Dada,” Emma says.

“Yeah, daddy's here,” he confirms, tucking a few strands of her blonde hair behind her ear. “Did you have a bad dream?”

She makes a noise he takes as a yes, and he strokes her back gently. 

“I know,” he says, remembering his own nightmares. His eyes fall on the nearby candles they light when reading to Emma late at night, and carefully he stands up and finds the matches. 

She associates the candles with something good, he knows. With story time and mommy and daddy. He can use that. 

Emma watches him as he lights one, sucking at her thumb.

“We light this when we tell you stories,” he tells her softly. “It's a good candle; a magic candle. It will capture the nightmares. It keeps them away.”

If Emma understands him or just finds the sound of his voice comforting, he doesn't know. But she rests her cheek against his chest and blinks her eyes sleepily as she looks at the candle. 

Gently, he sits back down in the rocking chair. 

“Daddy will watch over you,” he says, kissing the top of her head again. “Go back to sleep, Emma.”

She touches his eyelids as if telling him the same thing, and he smiles faintly. Yes. He'll sleep for as long as is needed if she wants him to. 

He rocks back and forth slowly, and he can tell from Emma's slowing breaths that she is close to sleep. When he's sure she's asleep, he tilts his head and manages to blow out the candle. He doesn't move though, feeling his own eyes slide shut.

He sleeps.

II

“David,” Mary Margaret says softly, and he opens his eyes to see Mary Margaret looking down at him and wearing one of his shirts. She's smiling, and the love he sees in her eyes makes it impossible not to smile back as she leans down and gives him a light peck. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he agrees, glancing down to see Emma still sleeping against his chest. She's drooled slightly on him, but she is still sleeping soundly. “Is it morning?”

“No,” Mary Margaret replies. “It's still early.”

“Right,” he murmurs, easing out of the rocking chair. He kisses Emma's head as Mary Margaret does the same, and then he very, very carefully lowers Emma back into her small bed. “She had a bad dream.”

“Daddy to the rescue,” Mary Margaret says fondly, taking his hand and leading him back to their bedroom. She closes the door softly, making him sit down on the side of the bed while she gets a piece of cloth and wipes Emma's drool from his chest. 

“Mommy to the rescue,” he jokes, then scoots back onto the bed as she climbs into it, straddling him. She leans down as he lifts his head, their lips lingering inches apart.

“Hi,” he says, and kisses her. Her lips part lightly against his as he catches her lower lip between his lips, and he can feel the faintest touch of her tongue meeting his. He groans at that, slanting his mouth across hers and kissing thoroughly her until they're both breathless. 

“Hi,” she agrees as he pulls back, faint moisture from his mouth clinging to her lower lip. It makes him brush his lips against hers again, and again, and she laughs softly against his lips. 

“I love you,” he says, cupping her cheek and kissing her nose. 

“I love you,” she says, and he knows she does even as he still marvels at it. Mary Margaret. This woman he would go to the ends of the world for, but who instead found him at the end of the world. Without her, without Emma, he isn't sure what sort of man he would be – except less of one, because they always inspire him to be more. 

“David,” she says, looking at him as if she can read his mind or his very soul. “Don't.”

“Don't what?”

“You're the best man I've ever known,” she says fiercely. “Don't think anything less of yourself.”

“No?” he asks, his hands moving to the hem of the shirt she is wearing, gently yanking at it. 

“No,” she says decisively, a royal command as she lifts her arms and he pulls the shirt off her. She sighs contently as he pulls himself up flush against her, her breasts pressing against his chest. “I know you.”

“You do,” he agrees, flipping her around and pressing her into the mattress while keeping most of his weight on his elbows. “Around you, around Emma... It's as if I come into focus. Does that sound crazy?”

“No,” she murmurs, her eyes very green and familiar as she caresses his face with her gaze. “That sounds familiar.”

He kisses her then, slanting his mouth across hers and enjoying the familiarity of his wife in their bed, their daughter asleep in hers and his whole family right with him; almost like a dream come true, really.

II

They all have dreams sometimes, really. Most of them mean nothing, just images conjured while sleeping. But that isn't true of all. 

David's dreams are becoming more insistent, slowly pushing at him as if something is trying to break through. But for now, they remain just that; dreams.

And in David Nolan, Charming sleeps and waits, bidding his time.


	13. Close your eyes  / And the years go by

II

_Interlude: Granny_

II

Ruby is her grandchild, not her child, but that has never mattered to Granny. She's raised the girl and thus couldn't love her more even if she had been her actual child. 

Tough love, sometimes. She knows that. She has pushed Ruby in ways Ruby doesn't like to be pushed, has argued with her and been angry with her and has sometimes even been close to despair. 

But that is how she knows how to love. By wanting what's best for her, by trying to get Ruby to see what's best for her too. It's always been love.

And so, as the end of the world happens, Granny hugs her grandchild and tries to shield her, and that is very much love too. 

II

_Chapter thirteen: Close your eyes / And the years go by_

_Emma_

II

Emma's first memories are of mommy and daddy's arms. 

They hold her safely, rocking her or just carrying her, the safe frames of her life. Mommy gives her to daddy and daddy gives her to mommy and she's passed between them with laughter and love and gentle teases about how she's growing bigger.

Emma doesn't like that. She doesn’t want to grow bigger. She wants to stay in mommy and daddy's arms forever, the only life she's ever known. Beyond those arms, it seems like death and danger waits. She wakes crying out with that fear sometimes, not understanding where it comes from, just knowing that in mom and dad's arms, she is safe. 

But for her, time passes. Years go by, and so Emma Blanchard Nolan Swan slowly but surely begins growing up and making new memories.

II

“Blow the candle, honey,” mommy says, kissing Emma's temple softly. “It's your birthday, you can make a wish.”

“That's right,” daddy says, beaming down at Emma and Emma smiles back up at him. Daddy. Daddy and mommy. Her daddy, who knows everything and her mommy, who knows everything else. 

How can she wish for anything else?

So Emma closes her eyes and blows, and when she opens her eyes, what she wishes for is right there. 

II

Emma is sleepy, her head against mommy's chest, dad's chest against her back and daddy's arm around both her and mommy. They're in mommy and daddy's bed, another fairy tale having been read and Emma feeling wonderfully sleepy. She knows the moments she dozes off that daddy will lift her up and carry to her to her own bed, so she isn't giving in to sleep just yet. 

“Did you meet like that?” she asks sleepily. “Like in a fairy tale? Like Snow White and Prince Charming?”

“You like that story, huh?” daddy asks, and Emma can hear the smile in his voice. 

“Mmmm,” Emma agrees. 

“I do too,” mommy chimes in. “I like that Snow White.”

“You would,” daddy says, and Emma knows he's about to tease mommy. His voice always sounds like that when he teases mommy. “You pretend to be a meek schoolteacher, but you're really more badass than Snow White.”

“Is she?” Emma asks eagerly, and mommy blushes.

“Yes,” dad says, lowering his voice as if he's about to reveal a secret. “She once shot a very bad man in the shoulder with an arrow to protect daddy.”

“Really?” Emma asks, finding the thought strangely thrilling. 

“Really,” daddy confirms. “You see, mommy and daddy didn't meet quite like in a fairy tale, but mommy was just as brave as any hero we've read to you about. Braver in fact, and kinder and more beautiful and...”

“David!” mommy protests, but her eyes are bright, Emma notices. “Stop being so charming.”

“Never,” daddy swears, and Emma makes a slight face as her parents exchange a quick peck above her. Fairy tales and kissing always seem to go together, so do mommy and daddy and kissing too.

Maybe she'll find someone she wants to kiss one day too, as strange and gross as the thought seems. 

“We'll tell you the story of mommy and daddy and their princess Emma one day,” mommy says softly after a moment, and Emma nods sleepily. Her eyelids feel heavy, and she can't keep them open anymore. 

“We will,” daddy agrees, kissing the top of her head. “Sleep, honey.”

Emma sleeps.

II

From her position on daddy's shoulder, Emma surveys her kingdom in the light of the bright and still warm autumn sun. 

There is their house, wooden and weathered and always being built and improved on by mommy and daddy. Inside it is Emma's own room, her throne room, decorated and painted by mommy and daddy with all sorts of odds and ends they've managed to make toys out of. A hat made into a stuffed animal. A wooden sword made out of stick. A rainbow of colours on her walls from leftover paint mommy and daddy have recovered.

Emma likes her room, not caring it isn't a room in a castle filled with expensive toys and all the best furniture. Her room has everything mommy and daddy can give her in this world, and every inch of it is a testament to how much they love her. It's a good room.

Mommy and daddy have their own room too, sleeping together in their bed. They have no toys, which Emma finds a bit strange, but maybe they get enough fun playing with each other.

It's a nice house, their house. To Emma it's a castle, their castle, large and safe and walling them in when they want. 

There are other houses too. Belle, Ava, Nicholas, Regina and Owen living in one. Ruby, Whale and Granny live in another, and then there is Gold and his cane, Sean and Leroy, Jefferson and Paige, and all the others of the kingdom. A lot of people, Emma thinks. More than enough people for a kingdom. 

There's also the barn. Emma likes the barn. It seems filled with treasures and magical things, and once she managed to sneak away from mommy to go exploring in there. It was thrilling, but mommy and daddy's worried and frantic faces as they came looking for her did make her feel slightly guilty afterwards. 

But still. It was a small adventure, and Emma thinks she might like adventures. One day she might even take the small yellow car and go for a drive. (She likes yellow.) She's only driven once, one time when daddy let her come along when he drove his truck to get some supplies they had found that were too heavy to carry. That was an adventure too, especially when daddy let her sit on his lap and hold the wheel with him. 

It also showed her there is land beyond her kingdom. Mommy and daddy don't talk about it much, but she knows there is something beyond the borders of what she can see. Other kingdoms, maybe. Adventures to be had. 

“It's been a good harvest,” daddy says softly to mommy next to him, and mommy nods. That means they will have enough food, Emma knows. There was one winter they had not, and while she didn't go hungry, she knows mommy and daddy did. Already, young Emma knows this is not an easy world. There isn't always enough food, and she's heard enough to know there are dangers too. It's just hard to be afraid of them with mommy and daddy with her.

Mommy and daddy would protect her from anything, Emma is certain. Anything. 

II

It hurts. It hurts, and Emma can't stop crying, not even managing to get the words out as mommy swoops down and lifts her up onto her lap.

“Emma,” mommy says softly and comfortingly, kissing her temple and rubbing her arm. “Did you fall?”

“Yeee-ees,” Emma gulps. Her knee hurts, and she can see blood on it. She was just trying to run in the grass, but the grass was wet and she tripped. 

“Oh, honey,” mommy says, looking up as daddy comes running, his face dark with worry. “It's all right, she fell over and hurt her knee. It's just a scrape.”

“Oh,” daddy says, exhaling. He smiles gently at Emma, lifting her up into his arms as mommy stands up as well. “I'll carry her inside so we can get the wound cleaned and dressed, and then she can play inside the rest of the day.”

“It's just a scrape, David,” mommy reminds him, but she is smiling.

“It's Emma's scrape,” he says defensively, then his face softens. “I just don't want her to get hurt again.”

“I know,” mommy says, touching Emma's hair and stroking it lovingly. 

“I want to play outside again,” Emma says stubbornly. As mommy and daddy have been talking, her knee seems to hurt less. Now it's more of a dull ache, and she remembers from the stories mommy and daddy reads her that sometimes, heroes and princesses and knights (and she wants to be all three) get hurt. That doesn't make them give up. 

Mommy and daddy exchange a look, then daddy smiles almost sadly.

“As you wish, Emma,” he says, and mommy leans up to kiss the underside of his jaw. “We'll get this wound cleaned and dressed and then you can play outside again. Just be a little careful, can you do that for mommy and daddy, and for daddy's hair so it won't get grey in it already?”

Emma nods solemnly as mommy laughs softly. 

“I'll be careful,” Emma promises seriously. 

She does fall over again later that day, as it turns out, but this time, mommy and her keep it a secret to protect daddy's hair – and Emma learns that sometimes, sometimes you can fall over (especially in wet grass) but you can get up again and run on. 

And that mommy's kiss can't remove pain, but it does help with enduring it.

II

Sometimes, Jefferson comes over with Paige and lets Paige and Emma play together. He often brings hats along, always encouraging Emma to try to make them spin. 

It's a strange sort of game, Emma finds, as nothing ever seems to happen when she does, yet he always looks like he's waiting for it to happen. 

II

On a snowy morning, Granny dies. 

Emma knows death is a thing, has known since she first saw daddy at Graham's grave leaving a flower and asked mommy about it. Mommy told her that sometimes, good people die and then Emma saw her cry against daddy's shoulder about it later. 

So Emma knows that sometimes, people can be alive and then they can be gone and be buried in the ground. 

She's known that. This is the first time she's felt it.

Granny was nice. Granny would look after her on some nights with Ruby when mommy and daddy had date nights, just like Belle also would sometimes. Emma likes all three of them, Ruby for her fun, Belle for her reading, and Granny for her treats and funny remarks.

Liked, Emma realizes. She liked Granny, she likes Ruby and Belle. Death means having to change how you talk about them. 

She doesn't like that.

Ruby cries on Whale's shoulder, mommy cries on daddy's shoulder, and daddy holds Emma's hand while they watch Granny being buried. It seems like such a very strange thing that someone can be alive one day and dead the next. It seems wrong.

Emma looks up and mommy and daddy and wonders how she would feel if they were dead. It makes her cry too, and daddy lifts her up and hugs her against his chest while mommy rubs her back. 

Death. It happens, Emma realizes, and wishes it didn't. 

II

Emma watches the snow with disinterest, noticing how mommy gives her worried glances sometimes from where she and daddy are shovelling snow. 

“Hey Emma,” a voice says, and Emma looks up to see Regina look at her with her usual stern expression. Regina only ever looks soft when she looks at Owen, but Emma is used to that by now. She likes Owen too. Owen is the only one who she doesn't seem to gain any height on. Ava and Nicholas she used to be very small compared to, but now she is gaining on them and might even be taller than them some day. But not Owen. He is growing taller too. He seems to be the only one. 

“Hey,” Emma mutters. She looks down at the snowflakes on her gloves. 

“Don't you want to play?” Regina asks, looking over at where Ava and Nicholas are making a snow witch rather than a snow man. 

“No,” Emma mutters. 

“Why not?”

Emma shrugs, not sure how to explain it. “Don't wanna.”

Regina looks thoughtful. “Are you sad because of Granny?”

Emma nods slightly. She misses Granny, and the time when she didn't think about death and about the possibility that others might die too. 

“I lost someone once,” Regina says after a moment. She sounds stiff, forcing the words out. 

“Oh,” Emma says. She wonders who. “Sorry.”

Regina looks at her in a way that makes Emma almost uncomfortable, then nods very slightly.

“Do you miss him?” Emma asks honestly.

“Every day,” Regina replies, and her face softens in the same way as when she looks at Owen. 

“It hurts to miss someone,” Emma says. She wishes it didn't. 

“It does,” Regina agrees. 

“Does it get better?”

Regina closes her eyes, her face very strange for a moment. “I hope so.”

“Emma honey?” mom asks softly, and Emma looks around to see mommy and daddy having finished their snow shovelling. “Would you like to make a snow dragon with us?”

Emma hesitates. Snow dragons are her favorite thing to make in the whole world, especially because daddy lets her fight it afterwards with her wooden sword and declares her the bravest in the whole kingdom. She wants to make a snow dragon with mommy and daddy very much. 

“Do you think Granny would be mad if I wasn't sad all the time?” she asks Regina. 

“No,” Regina says, and she looks over at where Owen is walking towards her. “I think that those who loved us would want us to find happiness again after they're gone. Go play, Emma.”

“Okay,” Emma says, getting up. She remembers mommy telling her to be nice back when people are nice to her. “Go be happy, Regina.”

Regina makes the oddest face, but Emma barely notices, already running towards her mommy and daddy and throwing herself at them. Mommy and daddy laugh at her enthusiasm and speed and then make an exaggerated fall into the snow, and they end up a laughing heap in the snow. 

Then they make Emma's dragon and slay it, as they always do.

II

In the spring, a sheep dies, and some lambs die, and this time, Emma already knows what death is.

She still doesn't like it. 

II

Mr. Gold is strange, Emma is becoming more and more aware of this. He calls her princess and charming, but not in the way daddy and mommy do. No. Mr. Gold does it in a way that is serious and like it's a joke at the same time in a way Emma can't quite explain properly. It's just strange.

He watches her too, watches her grow and always gives her a birthday present and tells her he's looking forward to seeing her as an adult. Why, Emma isn't sure. Maybe he doesn't like kids. 

He acts strangely around Belle too, because he looks at her the way daddy looks at mommy, but he never kisses her. That is very strange. That sort of look should mean kissing. It seems to mean kissing with mommy and daddy, and Ruby and Dr. Whale, and if a boy ever looks at Emma like that she'll know either to kiss him or tell him he should run cos daddy will come after him.

She asks mommy and daddy why Mr. Gold is so strange, but that just seems to make them all strange too, and she never gets a good answer.

So she asks Mr. Gold himself on day. 

“Why I'm so strange?” he says, looking at her and then laughing. But it's a sort of good laugh, like he likes her laugh, not a mean laugh. “Miss Swan, you have the tact of your father, that is for sure.”

Emma doesn't mind hearing that. She wants to be like her dad, so she just beams. 

“I'm strange because I'm old and know a lot of things other don't,” Gold goes on, and his tone is serious. “That makes me seem strange to others, but I'm not really.”

“Oh,” Emma says, crinkling her forehead. “So it's like an act?”

“Yes, Miss Swan,” Gold agrees. “Very perceptive of you. Yes, it's like an act.”

Emma thinks about that, and about the people she knows. Sometimes people say things to her and she knows they aren't true, and that's a sort of act too.

“Mommy and daddy don't act a lot,” she finally says, and Mr. Gold smiles very, very faintly.

“They seem quite straight-forward, your charming parents. But you might find that things aren't always what they seem, Miss Swan. Why, even the Nolans might turn out to be a long lost fairy tale royalty in the end.”

Mr. Gold really, really enjoys acting strange, Emma decides. 

II

There are bad people in the world just like there is in the fairytales, Emma learns.

They're out in the forest on a bright summer day, a picnic by a lake so that mommy and daddy can teach Emma to swim. It's fun, especially when she and mommy team up to splash daddy with water until he surrenders and they demand hugs and kisses as their reward. 

Emma gets hers first, a long lingering hug and kisses to her forehead. Mommy just gets a kiss, but it's a really long one that lasts until Emma gets bored with it and splashes them both. 

It's a good day. In the afternoon, they eat their packed food and then mommy and daddy cuddle up on the blanket and Emma explores the forest around them, swearing to mommy she won't go far.

Of course, she ends up going a little too far, and suddenly she is aware of loud voices.

“Albert Spencer,” her daddy is saying, and his voice makes Emma's skin prickle. It feels like something is wrong.

“David Nolan, upstart king of the survivors,” an angry voice says back, and Emma creeps closer. She can see them now, see daddy standing halfway in front of mommy and with a strange man standing in front of them again and pointing something at them. 

“Better him than you,” mommy says angrily, and Emma hasn't heard mommy like that before. That voice sounds like someone who would shoot a bad man in the shoulder with an arrow. “David is a good, decent man who...”

“He's nothing more than a coma patient who fell in love with a school teacher and got delusions of grandeur,” the man hisses, and Emma balls her fist. He's a bad man, she just knows. He's a very bad man. 

“Is that my crime?” daddy says calmly. “That many people preferred me to you, and came to my camp instead?”

“Your crime...” the man says, almost choking on the words. “You woke a dragon, I don't even know how you did it, you set a dragon on my camp, you left me the only survivor...”

“Dragon?” daddy echoes, sounding completely confused. 

“It kept me trapped for years, keeping me alive for its own amusement,” the man goes on, and he sounds almost crazy, Emma finds. “I finally escaped and now I will have my revenge.”

“Your quarrel is with me. Kill me and let Mary Margaret go,” daddy says, and mommy makes a noise of protest. 

“Where is the brat you adopted?” the man hisses, ignoring him. “That little girl from the hospital. Emma, wasn't it? I want to look at your faces as I kill her, I want to see you grieve as I shoot your wife as well, I want you to feel utter despair before I kill you as well, I want...”

Emma doesn't think as she hears him talking about mommy and daddy dying. She knows what death is now. She will not let that happen to mommy and daddy.

So, she reaches for the nearest rock and throws it with all the strength she has. It hits the guy's head, and he staggers and looks confused. 

“Step away from my mommy and daddy,” Emma says breathlessly, and mommy and daddy stare at her in wonder. Then daddy moves, socking the guy right in the jaw and down the bad guy goes. 

“Emma!” mommy says, running over to hug her. Daddy is picking up the thing the bad guy was holding, then looking over at them. 

“Like mother, like daughter,” daddy says, and mommy laughs at that while Emma is left wondering what that means while being happy she is like mommy in any way.

II

It's officially her first adventure, Emma decides, but she isn't sure she wants more adventures like that. 

They manage to get the bad guy back to their community. Regina and Mr. Gold insist on taking care of him, and mommy and daddy let them after a brief argument. They're going to make a cell, apparently, locking the bad guy up. 

Emma thinks the punishment should involve more rock throwing since he was mean to mommy and daddy, and Mr. Gold laughs in that way he does when she says as much. 

Then they go home. As mommy makes them dinner, daddy sits down next to Emma and explains to her that Albert Spencer was a very bad man that once tried set fire to their previous home. That's when Graham died, and daddy's face looks very sad as he mentions that. 

It should have been a bigger rock she threw, Emma thinks. 

“You were a hero today,” daddy finally says, and Emma feels her chest swell with so much pride it's almost painful. A hero. Her. Just like in the fairy tales. 

When daddy sets the plates, mommy takes over and explains that the bad guy has apparently gone a little mad surviving on his own for many years since he kept talking about dragons. 

Dragons only exist in fairy tales, Emma knows. Mommy and daddy have told her that often enough. Still, she wonders why a bad guy would start imagining dragons. That seems like an odd thing to imagine.

There is one other thing Emma is wondering about, and she keeps wondering about it while they eat dinner. 

“What does adopted mean?” Emma finally asks after they've put the plates away, and mommy and daddy exchange a glance.

“We wanted you to be a bit older when we told you,” mommy says gently. “Emma, your father and I, we... You know how the sheep give birth to lambs?”

Emma nods. She's seen that, she's even cried over a few lambs that died.

“You remember the sheep that died last winter after she had given birth?” daddy says, and Emma nods again. She almost wishes she didn't. “One of the other sheep took care of her lambs became their mommy.”

“Mommy and daddy didn't give birth to you,” mommy says, looking at Emma intently. “We're your parents, but we didn't give birth to you. That's what adopted means.”

“Oh,” Emma says. Mommy and daddy are looking at her anxiously. “Who gave birth to me?”

“We don't know,” daddy says. “I found you in the hospital in your baby blanket.”

Emma swallows. “Are they dead?”

“We don't know,” mommy says again, sounding sad. “A lot of people died then. They might be. I'm very sorry, Emma.”

“If they're alive, would they come to take me away from you?” Emma asks, and daddy shakes his head furiously. 

“No, Emma. If they came looking for you, we would... We would find a way and we would still be your mommy and daddy no matter what. But I don't think...”

He closes his eyes as if in pain. Mommy takes his hand and squeezes it, looking at Emma with sad eyes.

“Emma, your parents had given you to the hospital. I don't know why. Maybe they didn't think they could be good parents to you. Maybe they were trying to give you your best chance.”

“They gave me up,” Emma says tonelessly. Her chest hurts. Daddy pulls her onto his lap, kissing her head while mommy takes her hands.

“We wanted you,” daddy says furiously. “More than anything. I took one look at you and you were my baby girl, Emma. I'm so proud to be your daddy.“

“I'm so proud to be your mommy,” mommy echoes, and Emma sniffles before giving in and crying against daddy's chest. Mommy puts her arms around them both, Emma can hear both mommy and daddy murmur soft, loving words, but they let her cry. 

It hurts. She can't even explain exactly why, just that it does. 

She runs out of tears at some point, and just sits in silence while daddy and mommy hold her. She's always felt their arms are the safest place in the whole world, but she's beginning to realize that even here, she can feel hurt.

Maybe there isn't a place that is completely safe. Maybe that's why people have to be brave, in fairy tales like in real life.

II

Emma is tired, resting her head against mommy's chest with dad's chest against her back and daddy's arm around both her and mommy. They're in mommy and daddy's bed, and Emma knows that tonight, tonight daddy won't be carrying her to her own bed the moment she falls asleep. 

“Do you want us to tell you a fairy tale tonight?” mommy asks softly. “Maybe about Snow White and Prince Charming?”

“No,” Emma says quietly. Tonight, she doesn't feel like fairy tales.

“How about the story of how mommy and daddy met?” daddy asks softly after a moment. “You see, mommy and daddy met because of you, Emma.”

“You did?” Emma asks, glancing up at mommy, who nods. 

“Yes,” daddy says, kissing the back of her head. “Once upon a time there was a coma patient in a hospital that was woken by true love's cry. He heard the cries of the baby girl who was going to be his daughter. He just didn't know she would be that yet. But she awoke him with her cries. Her name was Emma...”

Emma closes her eyes and listens, letting her daddy's words slowly lull her to sleep. 

II

Summer becomes autumn, and just like that, she's a year older.

“Blow the candle, honey,” mommy says, kissing Emma's temple softly. “It's your birthday, you should make a wish.”

“You should,” daddy says, beaming down at Emma and Emma smiles back up at him. Daddy. Daddy and mommy. All a child could ask for. Loving parents, such very loving parents. It doesn't matter that they didn't give birth to her. They're all she could want in parents anyway. 

She's like the lamb that got a new mommy. She's like Owen. Mommy and daddy chose her. She's their child by choice, not my birth. 

But Emma Blanchard Nolan Swan isn't always going to be a child. She's growing up, as all children do. She's beginning to look beyond her parents, as all children eventually do. 

She closes her eyes and wishes, not even sure what she's wishing for. Not mommy and daddy. She'll always have them, she knows. 

What else can she have? Can she wish for anything else?

When she opens her eyes, mommy and daddy are beaming at her and pull her into a hug, and Emma forgets about her wish.

For now.


	14. A symphony that's you / joyously awaking the sleeping

II

_Interlude: Neal_

II

The world has ended, Neal finds. 

He wasn't there when it happened. He only returns to it years later, having escaped the horrors of Neverland just to find something far more horrifying awaiting him. 

New York is in ruins, and he spends days just walking around in a daze. 

He thinks of his papa then, at long last. He's had to stop thinking about his father, being haunted enough in his dreams all that time in Neverland. His father let go, loving power more than him, being the Dark One more than a father. The thought hurts, and so he's let it go the last few years. He's tried to grow up.

But now he thinks of his papa. He can't wish his father had come with him to a world that is ending, so he doesn't. Instead he wishes that while his father might not have loved him enough to go with him, that he had loved him enough to find him and bring him home. 

A selfish wish perhaps, but then, he is still a child. 

The world has ended. Neal has to grow up in the after. 

II

_Chapter fourteen: A symphony that's you / joyously awaking the sleeping_

_Mary Margaret_

II

The years pass. 

And to Mary Margaret, they hardly seem to change anything at all. Life goes on, one day much the same as the other. They farm. They survive. David loves her and she loves him, and they both love their daughter. 

Nothing changes. No one changes. 

Except Emma. 

II

It's an evening like any other, just like so many evenings before it. 

David has fallen asleep on the couch, exhausted from a day working the fields. Emma is nestled on his lap, looking thoughtful. Emma is getting too old for her father's lap, really, but David pretends not to notice. It will be Emma who decides when she's too old, and David will quietly both feel the loss and be proud that his daughter is growing up. 

Like any parent, and she smiles at the sight of her daughter and husband. Her family. 

This is, Mary Margaret knows, all she's ever wanted. A loving husband who is the living embodiment of a Prince Charming, a daughter who is healthy and happy and growing up fast, a community of friends and chosen family. It's not an easy life, with the ruins of a world around them and the struggle to survive, but it still makes her happy. 

It could stay this way forever, and she would be happy, she is sure. 

“Mommy?” Emma asks, lifting her head from David's shoulder. 

“Yes, honey?” Mary Margaret replies sweetly, putting away the shirt she's been mending.

“Why does no one change?” Emma asks, sounding puzzled.

“What do you mean?” Mary Margaret replies, moving to sit next to David on the couch and taking Emma's hand.

Emma is clearly struggling to find the words. “I wanted to be a as tall as Ava. Now I am.”

“Kids grow differently, honey,” Mary Margaret says slowly. She tries to remember Ava when they first moved to this community, but her memory seems almost foggy. Ava was smaller then, wasn't she?

Emma seems to consider that. “Everyone seems to stay the same except me. And Owen.”

Mary Margaret thinks of Regina's Owen, who is becoming a young man, and who has definitely changed and changed Regina with him. A good change, they all agree. 

“Everyone changes, honey,” Mary Margaret says reassuringly. “It might not always seem like it...”

“It never seems like it,” Emma says impatiently, then lowers her head back to David's shoulder and seems to let the thought go for now. 

But the thought, as strange and impossible at it seems, takes root in Mary Margaret's mind – and the evening like any other becomes the moment when it starts to change. 

II

She thinks about it after they've all gone to bed, Emma tucked in with a quick retelling of her favorite fairy tale, the one about Snow White. 

No one changes. What an odd thing to say, yet...

Yet.

David wraps his arms around her and kisses her shoulder softly, and she lets his touch silence the nagging thought in her head for now. 

II

She dreams. 

They're fleeting images, coming apart like mist when she tries to hold on to them. Like ghosts, haunting her more than finding her, always just beyond her reach.

She dreams, and doesn't remember. 

II

In the morning, David kisses her awake like so many other mornings, and she smiles against his lips before opening her eyes. 

“Good morning,” he whispers, his body warm and familiar against hers. She draws her hands across his chest, feeling his skin against her palm. 

“Good morning,” she replies, sighing happily as he kisses her tenderly. In the faint light of the dawn through the window, she can feel him more than see him, but she knows the shape of his face and body by heart. 

It is strange, though. For all he jokes about being a daddy now, he is still the very image of the young man she met and then fell head over heels for. Maybe she'll always seem him like that. Maybe it's just her romantic view of him, and yet, Emma's words echo in her mind. 

“David?” she asks against his lips, and he pulls away slightly, but keeps a hand on her cheek. His thumb caresses her skin lightly while he waits for her to speak. “Do I seem older to you than when we met?”

“You're as lovely as the day I met you and you saved both Emma and me,” he declares, the sincerity in his voice making her heart ache. 

“Charming,” she replies, the word always coming so easy to her when it comes to him. “But David, I'm being serious. Do I seem older to you?”

He frowns, then looks downright confused for a moment. “No, but... We're both still young.”

“Are we?” she asks. She doesn't feel it, now that she thinks about it. Sure, Emma has been slowly growing up, a beautiful young girl now, but Mary Margaret doesn't feel any older. The days and years have passed, but it almost feels like they haven't touched her at all. 

“Yes,” he says, but his voice sounds almost distant. “Mary Margaret, what's going on?”

“I don't know,” she whispers. “I just... Emma said something odd yesterday. She said everyone stayed the same but her.”

“She's growing up so fast,” he says affectionately. “I can't blame her for feeling that way. She's no longer our baby, Mary Margaret.”

“I know,” she says, thinking of the weight of tiny Emma in her arms all those years ago. It seems so long ago, and indeed Emma has grown so much since then, but... “How long has it been since we found her, David?”

“Ten,” he says slowly, as if struggling to add the years up. “She's ten.”

“Ten,” she repeats. It's been ten years but doesn't feel like it. A decade? Really?

Her head hurts, and she closes her eyes as David kisses her forehead softly. He doesn't quite understand what she's trying to tell him, she knows, but she barely understands it herself. 

_Why does no one change?_

II

Mary Margaret asks Ruby first. Just a simple question, really.

How long has it been since they came here? 

Ruby can't really answer. She looks confused, and manages to guess it's been years, but can't say more than that. Whale can't answer it either, nor can Ava and Nicholas. 

It makes Mary Margaret increasingly worried, especially as she watches Emma play with Nicholas and Ava. Faintly, distantly, she seems to remember Ava leading Emma around by the hand and being the taller one.

Now they're the same height. How has she not noticed it before? 

II

“What is it?” David asks as they walk away, taking her hands in his. “Mary Margaret, you're cold. Your hands are like ice. Maybe you should go home and lie down. I'll make some soup for you and...”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “Did you hear them, David? They don't know how long it's been.”

“It's hard to keep track of time given our circumstances,” he says slowly, but he sounds almost hesitant. 

“That's not all,” she insists. She feels dizzy, almost as if she's going to fall, but into what?

She closes her eyes as David's arms go around her, embracing her. She clings to him, feeling his presence slowly steady her. 

“Something is wrong,” she whispers, digging her fingers into his arm. 

“Okay,” David murmurs, and she opens her eyes to see him look at her with equal amounts of worry and love. “Let's figure out what.”

II

They end up going to Gold. Of course. They always seem to, they always have, and Mary Margaret isn't quite sure why. She doesn't fully trust him, nor does David, and she suspects he doesn't expect them to. He even seems to find their caution endearing. 

But even if they don't fully trust him, he is usually the one with the answers. The trick is just to get them out of him. 

“If it isn't the fair Mary Margaret and her charming David Nolan,” Gold greets them as he opens the door. “Where is that beloved daughter of yours?”

“Playing with Ava and Nicholas and Ruby,” David says, squeezing Mary Margaret's hand. She nods, taking a deep breath. 

“No one changes in this town,” she says hesitantly, watching Gold's face. Something flickers in his eyes, like a light, and she knows Emma is onto something. 

“I dare say your daughter is evidence to the contrary,” Gold says after a moment, but his tone is inviting rather than challenging. 

“She's growing up,” Mary Margaret acknowledges, feeling the bittersweetness of that. “But no one else seems to.”

Gold watches her like a hawk. “Did the lovely Miss Swan say something perhaps?”

“She said no one changes,” Mary Margaret replies almost automatically, and Gold nods several times. 

“And you can't stop thinking about it?” he guesses, still looking at her with unwavering attention. “Your daughter's words have power, dearie.”

“Power?” she echoes, but he simply smiles and leans on his cane. 

“What do you think, Mr. Nolan?” he says, shifting his attention to David. “Did your daughter say the same to you and you can't get it out of your mind either?”

“No,” David says, but he meets Gold's gaze without wavering. “But if Mary Margaret says something is wrong, I believe her.”

“Such faith in your wife,” Gold says. “How very charming of you.”

“What's wrong?” David cuts in, and Gold smiles as if he finds the directness more amusing than anything. 

“I cannot tell you, dearies,” Gold says after a moment. “You wouldn’t believe me in any case. Listen to your daughter and you will know, in time.”

With that, he shuts his door and leaves Mary Margaret none the wiser, but all the more worried.

II

Without any clear answers, they let the matter rest for a few days. Emma doesn't bring it up again, not even when Mary Margaret prompts gently. But still, Mary Margaret finds she can't quite rest.

She dreams, and wakes up in the middle of the night, feeling her mind desperately clawing at images that come apart the moment they come into focus.

She casually asks people how long it's been since they got here, if Ava and Nicholas seem older to them, and all the muddled answers give her is more of a headache.

It's as if everyone is in a fog, and she's the only one truly seeing it.

Except there is one she hasn't asked yet. 

II

Regina looks surprised when she sees Mary Margaret at her door, but lets her in nevertheless. The part of the house that is Owen and Regina's has become cluttered with items much like her own house, Mary Margaret notes, like a family home. 

“What can I do for you, Mrs Nolan?” Regina asks, but not quite in the icy tone Mary Margaret remembers from the beginning. Regina has thawed, slowly but surely.

Mary Margaret still feels nervous around her and isn't even sure why. 

“Owen is becoming a lovely young man,” she says, and Regina's face softens just a touch. “You've done a good job raising him.”

“Emma looks to be growing up well,” Regina comments after a moment's hesitation. From her, that is practically a glowing endorsement. 

“Have you noticed no one else is?” Mary Margaret says after a few moments, and Regina's face shuts down and becomes a mask.

“What do you mean?”

“Ava and Nicholas, they're not growing older. Emma used to be younger than them. Now she's not. I don't feel any older than when I found her, but Emma is ten years now.”

Regina watches her carefully.

“What you are suggesting sounds like magic to me, Mrs. Nolan.”

Mary Margaret just nods helplessly. She knows it sounds crazy, and she feels out of her mind. 

She looks up when Regina suddenly takes her hands and looks at her.

“Go home to your daughter and husband, Mary Margaret,” Regina says kindly, almost softly. “It will make sense to you one day, I promise.”

II

David greets her when she comes home, sitting down on the couch with her and holding her hands. They feel icy in his warm and firm grip, and she feels almost ill. 

“Mary Margaret,” he says worriedly. 

“It's wrong,” she manages to say, her lips feeling stiff. Something is either very wrong with everything, or with her, and the thought chills her to the bone. 

“What is?” he asks softly.

“Time,” she says helplessly. “This place. It's wrong.”

“I don't understand,” he says, and she knows he doesn't. He doesn't have Emma's words echoing in his head and driving him to the point of madness. 

“Do you think I'm crazy?” she asks David, but he's shaking his head before she's even finished the question.

“ _No_ ,” he says emphatically, cradling her face in his hands. “No.”

“I'm starting to feel crazy,” she admits. 

“You're not,” he says, kissing her forehead. She closes her eyes as he continues kissing her face, as if looking to reassure her. She lets him, even knowing that he can't. 

There is something wrong and she can't let it go. 

II

In the evening, it's David who makes dinner and serves his family. At his insistence, he's wrapped Mary Margaret in a warm blanket and tells Emma that mommy is feeling a bit under the weather.

Emma looks worried at that, and doesn't leave Mary Margaret's side the rest of the evening. So for once it's Emma who reads a fairy tale to her mother, and Mary Margaret closes her eyes and listens while David does all the evening chores.

As Emma reaches the end of the story, she pauses. 

“Do you believe in happy endings, mommy?” she asks thoughtfully.

“Yes,” Mary Margaret admits. “It might not always seem like it in this world, but I believe in happy endings.”

Emma nods. “I want to believe in them.”

“I hope you will one day, honey,” Mary Margaret says, and Emma leans against her. They sit in silence for a while, only David's distant humming sometimes breaking the silence.

“You're not sick like Granny was?” Emma finally asks, and Mary Margaret remembers that Granny's death was the first death Emma ever knew. So long ago now, yet... 

“No, honey,” Mary Margaret says reassuringly. “Granny was very sick, Emma. I'm just a little bit cold.”

“I don't want you to be sick,” Emma says stubbornly. 

“I'll be fine again soon,” Mary Margaret says, wishing she could make it sound like a promise. “Emma... Do you remember what you told me? About people not changing?”

“Oh,” Emma says, sounding defensive. “I asked Nicholas about it and he said it was stupid. So I was just stupid.”

“You're not stupid,” Mary Margaret says, making a note to have a chat with Nicholas. “You're anything but stupid, honey. I believe you.”

Emma's face lights up. “You do?”

“Yes,” Mary Margaret says, thinking of what Gold said about listening to Emma. “Can you tell me why you think no one changes?”

“I've been thinking it for a while,” Emma admits shyly. “Daddy keeps making marks on the wall to show how much I've grown.”

Mary Margaret smiles at that. David's pride at his daughter growing up is impossible not to smile at, after all.

“Ava and Nicholas don't have marks on the wall,” Emma goes on, sounding thoughtful. “Then I started thinking about it. I thought maybe because I was adopted, I was different.”

“Oh Emma,” Mary Margaret says softly. “You are our daughter in every way that counts.”

Emma looks at her, something almost adult in her eyes. “I know. But I'm still different. I feel different.”

Mary Margaret feels her heart break slightly, hugging her daughter close. It is part of growing up, she tries to reason, to feel different and even alone sometimes. Yet hearing her daughter voice it aloud is heartbreaking. 

“It's okay to be different,” she murmurs against Emma's hair. “The right people will love you for just who you are. That's what true love is.”

“True love,” Emma echoes. “That's what you and daddy have, isn't it?”

Mary Margaret glances over at where David is finishing stacking the logs to keep the fire going all night. 

“Yes, honey, it is,” she confirms. “But you want to know a secret?”

“What?” Emma asks breathlessly.

“It's what daddy and I have for you too,” Mary Margaret whispers, and Emma's smile lights up her whole face.

“I love you too, mommy,” Emma says, leaning forward to kiss Mary Margaret’s forehead. “It's true love.”

And inside Mary Margaret's head, something explodes. 

II

She dreams.

Only this time the images are clear, crystal clear. There is David, only he is Charming, and there she is, only she is Snow.

There are their friends, their kingdom, their world.

And there is their daughter, the daughter they have to give up to give her her best chance.

Emma. 

She dreams – no, she _remembers_.

II

“Mommy?” Emma asks, looking worried. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Mary Margaret – no, Snow - says, trying to keep her voice steady as her mind puzzles itself back together. She's... Oh, she's Snow and this is Emma, and this is... This is the curse, and...

She pulls her daughter into a fierce hug, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. Oh, Emma. 

“I love you,” Snow manages to say, the words feeling inadequate to describe what she's feeling right now. “Oh, Emma. I love you so very, very much.”

“You're being weird, mommy,” Emma complains and Snow has to laugh at that. She pulls away to look at her daughter properly as Snow again. She sees now just how a perfect mix of herself and Charming their daughter really is.

Emma. They had her and then ended up adopting her, making her their daughter twice over. 

She can feel tears in her eyes, so she quickly leans forward to kiss Emma's forehead again to hide it. 

“Come on,” Charming – no, David – says, holding out a hand to Emma. She hadn't even noticed him approach, so lost in her regained memories and Emma's presence. _Charming_. “Let's give mommy some rest. She'll feel better in the morning.”

Snow watches them link hands almost as if seeing them for the first time. Her husband, actually her husband in two worlds now. Her daughter, here as in the Enchanted Forest. Her family.

They found each other. 

She closes her eyes, trying to steady herself. She remembers. She remembers everything, both Snow and Mary Margaret and it's almost like drowning. It's too much. She needs someone to hold on to, the only one who always knows how to keep her afloat.

She needs Charming. 

“Emma?” she manages to call, her voice close to breaking. “Tell daddy what you told me and kiss him goodnight.”

Emma nods regally, like the princess she truly is, following David while Snow watches them go with an aching heart. Oh, Emma. Their savior, truly their savior no matter what might happen with the curse. Emma brought them together and saved them all.

They got to raise her after all, Snow thinks distantly. She'll treasure all those years as Mary Margaret for that alone, no matter how cursed they were. 

Regina, she thinks distantly. They have to deal with Regina. And Gold, who clearly knows judging by his remarks and attitude towards them and Emma. They have to find a way to tell Emma the truth too, and then find a way for Emma to break the curse so they can all return home and leave this world without happy endings, this ruined world. 

So many things to do and yet there is only one thing she wants to do right now.

“Snow?” a voice says hesitantly, and she glances up to see David – no, Charming – look at her with a dazed expression. 

“Emma kissed you,” she says happily, feeling the tears in her eyes finally fall. She doesn't care. They're happy tears, good tears. She stands up, letting the blanket fall to the couch as she no longer feels cold. His gaze makes her feel warm instead. 

“Yes,” he says, taking a step closer. “She said she loved me and then kissed me and Snow... I _remember_.”

“Yes,” she says, smiling through her tears as he steps closer, and then closer still. She lifts a trembling hand to his cheek, and then it's as if something snaps in him and he pulls her into an almost crushing hug. 

“Snow,” he says, breathing hard as she clings to him. “Oh, _Snow_. Snow.”

“Charming,” she says, tasting his name again, so familiar and so forgotten all at once. “Charming.”

“Yes,” he says, laughing and crying as he kisses her face and swings her around. “Snow.” 

“Charming,” she says. Her Charming, her beloved Charming in her beloved David. “You found me.”

“We found each other,” he replies and she links her arms behind his neck and kisses him, truly kisses him as if it's been a decade. In a way, it has been, after all. 

He moans into the kiss, slanting his mouth across hers and parting his lips as she tugs at them. They kiss and kiss and kiss, until they're both panting and reluctantly pull apart.

“Snow,” he says again, her name always such a caress when he speaks it.

“Charming,” she replies, and he steals a kiss at that. He watches her with such wonder on his face, the same wonder she feels. “Emma, she's... She's our Emma, isn't she?”

He already knows the answer, she suspects, just wanting it confirmed. So she nods, and kisses away the happy tears that streak his cheeks. 

“She's our Emma,” she says, hearing her voice catch. Wordlessly, he takes her hand and they walk into Emma's room together. 

Emma has fallen asleep in her bed, the tiny mobile of carved wooden figurines moving lightly above her. The crib she used to sleep in until she outgrew it is placed against the wall, used for toy storage now. 

They built her a nursery twice, Snow realizes. At least one of them saw use. 

Charming watches his daughter without saying anything, as if he finds her mere presence comfort enough. Every now and then he smiles faintly, as if wandering through David Nolan's memories of their daughter and seeing them anew.

Much like she is.

Finally, he leans down and kisses Emma's forehead.

“Sleep well, princess,” he whispers, as lovingly as David would but now with Charming's love added in as well. It makes the lump in her throat grow, and so she wordlessly kisses their daughter with all the love she can muster. 

Emma, she thinks, and aches with it.

They leave their daughter to her sleep, heading into their own bedroom and wordlessly embracing there. They cling to each other, and she imagines he feels as overwhelmed as she does. 

He finally pulls away to look at her, his eyes bright. His hands cradle her face, caressing, and she lifts her hands to press against his chest. He's here, he's here with her. The last image she has of him as Snow was him dying on a floor, and the thought makes her clutch his shirt in her hands. 

“We have a lot of things we need to talk about,” she says breathlessly. 

“They can wait until tomorrow,” he murmurs, and she can only nod. She would have suggested the same thing, if he hadn't. 

“Snow,” he says, brushing his lips against her cheek, then hovering maddeningly close to her lips. 

“You should probably still call me Mary Margaret in front of Emma and everyone else,” she manages to say. 

“Yes,” he agrees easily. “But here, with just as us two, you're Snow.”

“I'm Snow,” she agrees, and he kisses her forcefully, pressing her against him. She sighs at that, slowly stepping backwards and pulling him with her, never breaking the kiss. He moans in encouragement as she pulls at his shirt, finally pushing it off his shoulders and letting her hands roam his chest. 

His skin is warm and familiar under her palm, the lines like a familiar roadmap. The familiarity only heightens her desire, as memories of past times with him – as David, as Charming - make her cheeks flush with heat. 

Soon she'll have another memory to add to it, she thinks, as the back of her legs hit the bed and she lets herself fall backwards, bringing her with him. He uses his hands to brace himself without breaking the kiss, his tongue brushing hers as her hands brush his abdomen and then dip lower. 

He growls at that, but almost happily. David always had a way of making Mary Margaret feel bold, but now she knows it was Charming in him calling to her Snow. Charming loves her boldness, and so David did too, and, he smiles into the kiss as she impatiently tries to pull his jeans down.

“Snow,” he murmurs affectionately, pulling away slightly to move them both further onto the bed and moving the covers slightly around them. He pauses for a moment, looking at her almost reverently and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I love you.”

She kisses him at that, catching his lower lip between hers before brushing his lower lip softly, teasingly. He lets her, his hands intent on pulling her sweater off. The noise he makes when he succeeds and realizes she's not wearing a bra is triumphant, making her giggle into the kiss. 

He laughs at the sound of that, and she joins him, feeling the joy of this moment almost overcome her. She has her Charming, her Emma, her family. The world ended, and yet here they are, after. Together. 

He dips his head down to kiss her as the laughter dies, nipping at her lips while his hands move to her breasts. She arches into him as he moves his thumbs in circles around her nipples. He knows how to touch her, has since those first times they spent exploring each other as Snow and Charming. How David knew her body now makes sense, as if his hands and mouth remembered what his mind did not.

As hers did, she knows, and smiles at the noise he makes when she strokes him through the cloth of his worn jeans. Yes. Oh yes, and his teasing kiss becomes a hard, demanding one as his mouth encases hers. 

That too, is familiar, the need in him that she feels in his kiss, that she feels when she kisses him. It's mixed with their love for each other, or perhaps it's simply a part of their love for each other. It's no wonder David and Mary Margaret were drawn to each other helplessly, not quite understanding it but feeling it. 

They already loved each other. They just didn't remember.

As they did with Emma too. 

Her lips feel swollen as Charming pulls away slightly, lowering his head to her neck instead. He sucks on just the right spot there, clearly remembering what it does to her, and she lets her head fall back against the pillow with a sigh.

He keeps kissing her skin as she closes her eyes, sometimes light butterfly kisses, sometimes lingering brushes of his lips and sometimes sucking lightly in a way that makes her clench her fists. He seems intent on kissing every inch of her skin available to him, and when he bites her nipple oh so gently, she can feel her nails against her palm so hard it hurts.

“Charming,” she says, practically moaning his name. She can feel him smile against her skin before continuing, drawing more sounds out of her. She is practically panting as he lowers his head and kisses her stomach as he pulls her jeans off agonizingly slowly. 

He glances up at her for a moment, his face bright with love and lust. He is so lovely to her, so breathtaking for simply being himself. Charming; Charming and David Nolan, and she loves both. 

She whimpers as he gently palms her through her underwear, no doubt feeling the heat against his skin. Still, he takes his time rubbing his hands up and down first through cloth, then with an impatient groan, tearing her underwear off and it's his fingers against her skin. 

She watches him watch her through lowered eyelids, gauging her reactions as he moves his fingers. She feels adrift in heat, sinking in it as his thumb circles and his fingers move – and then it overtakes her and everything is blinding pleasure.

She hears more than sees Charming stand up as her body and mind slowly seem to find each other again. After a few moments, she can feel him slip underneath the covers and feels his body on top of hers again. He's removed his jeans, she realizes, feeling him hot and hard against her stomach. 

“Snow,” he says, caressing her cheek as she blinks a few times to focus her vision. He is smiling at her, she sees, happily and maybe just a little pleased with himself. She smiles at that, then lifts her head and kisses him slowly. 

“I missed you,” he murmurs into the kiss.

“You had me,” she counters, arching into him and seeing his pupils dilate at that. “Repeatedly.”

“Mmm,” he hums. “David Nolan did seem to have it hard for his wife.”

As if to make the point, he grinds into her, and she can feel just how hard he still has it. 

“Good,” she says, linking her legs behind him as he slides into her, so wonderfully familiar and making her lips part in a soundless moan. 

“Good,” he echoes huskily. She clenches her muscles around him as he holds still, and he licks his lips and then hers. She kisses him at that, catching his lips with hers, as he begins to move. It's a slow pace he sets, long strokes deep into her that her body welcomes. 

She can feel him moan her name into her mouth every now and then as he moves, his skin slick and warm against hers. All her bodily sensations seem centred on him, on his kisses, on his touches, on his skin, on him hard inside her. Charming, she thinks, her body seeming to hum his name as well. 

She clings to him as he shifts them onto their sides, lifting her leg across his hip to allow him to continue to thrust leisurely. His hands keep touching her while she keeps kissing him, resting her own hands at his chest just above his heart. 

He might have lost his memories, as she did, but his heart remained true, she thinks, and wonders how she would have managed if the curse had taken that from her, if David Nolan hadn't been so very Charming. 

“I love you,” she whispers against his lips as she feels his body shudder with his orgasm. He sighs happily, brushing his lips against hers with agonizing tenderness. 

“Snow,” he whispers, sounding breathless. 

“Yes,” she agrees. Tomorrow, she'll have to be Mary Margaret to the world, to their daughter, at least until they can figure out what to do about... Well, everything. But right now, she is Snow, and she has her Charming. And together, they have Emma. “Say it again.”

“What?”

“Snow.”

“Snow,” he says, and she kisses the sound of her true name on her true love's lips, welcoming the change. 

II

It's a night not like any other, and the quiet life David and Mary Margaret made for themselves and their daughter ends. 

Snow and Charming's new life is about to begin – the first of many changes Emma is going to bring.


	15. In our world made of stories / Your words are all over me

II

_Chapter fifteen: In our world made of stories / Your words are all over me_

_David_

II

David wakes to a soft kiss to his forehead, and he smiles without even thinking before opening his eyes. He knows that kiss. He knows that giggle too, and sure enough, as he opens his eyes he sees that Emma has crawled up into bed and is sitting next to him on top of the covers. It's a familiar sight, whenever he and Snow oversleep and their daughter wakes before them. 

“Hey, princess,” he says sleepily, lifting a hand to ruffle her soft curls. 

Emma, his brain reminds him, and he's suddenly wide awake. _Emma_. He's Charming, and she's Emma. He remembers now, after she broke his curse just as she broke Snow's.

Emma. She's their daughter, and their savior, and he loves her so very, very much. 

“Hey daddy,” she says, and his heart aches. He lifts his head and presses a lingering kiss to her forehead, trying to will all his love into it. He keeps his hand at the back of her neck as he pulls away, watching her face. Now that he remembers, he can see so much of Snow in Emma, and even some of himself. 

“Hey mommy,” Emma says, and he glances over to see Snow watching them both. She still has one arm across his waist underneath the covers, and he can feel her thumb caress his skin lovingly. Her eyes are bright with tears threatening to spill, but she manages an unsteady smile.

“Hey Emma,” she says, her voice shaking. 

Their daughter is no fool. She notices things, he knows, and she looks at them both with slightly narrowed eyes and a crinkled forehead. 

“Did we oversleep again?” he asks quickly, trying to keep his voice light and normal and failing spectacularly. 

“Yes,” Emma replies. She's still eyeing him and Snow. “Did someone die again?”

“No,” he says reassuringly. He remembers Emma's reaction to Granny's death – oh, _Granny_ \- and knows their daughter is starting to learn what death is, despite all his wishes that she would never have to. 

“You look sad,” Emma says, and he sits up, holding out his arms. She shifts into his embrace, and he kisses the top of her head. 

“We're not sad,” he says, feeling Snow sit up next to him and lean her head against his shoulder. “Sometimes when people are happy, they get emotional, and that can look a bit like being sad.”

“Oh,” Emma says. “Why are you happy?”

“Because you're our daughter,” Snow manages to say. He can see a single tear streak her cheek as she leans forward and kisses Emma's forehead too. 

“I've always been your daughter,” Emma says, sounding confused.

“And you always will be,” he says. He swallows, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat. “Mommy and daddy have a few things to do today, but how do you feel about a family day tomorrow?”

Emma lights up. She loves their family days, he knows, and the gratitude he feels towards David Nolan for having invented it and thus allowing him to share the memories of them from the past ten years is immeasurable. 

“Okay,” Emma says, trying to make it sound like no big deal and being just as bad as her mother in hiding her emotions. 

“Just give mommy and daddy a few moments and we'll get up and make us all breakfast, okay?” he says, and Emma nods regally and jumps off the bed. A moment later she's vanished out the door.

“Charming,” Snow says, lifting her head from his shoulder to look at him. Gently, he kisses the tears from her cheeks, furiously blinking back his own.

“I know,” he whispers reassuringly. Oh, he knows. They've been unknowingly raising their daughter for ten years, and realizing that is overwhelming. She would always have been their daughter even if she hadn't been the girl Snow gave birth to, of course, but now that they also have Snow and Charming's memories they know she's also the beloved child they wanted so very much and were forced to let go of. 

“I want to tell her,” Snow whispers furiously, but he can hear from the defiance in her voice that she knows it's not quite that simple. 

“We will,” he says softly. “But we have to figure out how, Snow. She thinks Snow and Charming are fairy tales and stories. She's grown up for ten years thinking this world is her world. She's the one meant to break this curse and we don't even know how.”

“She's the Savior,” Snow murmurs, a mixture of pride and sadness in her voice. He kisses her cheeks again, feeling the same. Their daughter, their wonderful daughter is meant to break the curse and save them all.

“She's already our savior,” he says, and Snow nods. “She saved us and she brought us together.”

Snow nods again, her eyes still teary, and he kisses her so very, very softly, feeling her sigh against his lips. He lets his lips linger against hers while brushing a few last tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. 

“Whatever comes, we'll face it together,” he reassures her as he pulls away, and she nods again, and then again. “As a family.”

“As a family,” she echoes, and he sees the familiar determination of Snow on her face. His wife. He has his wife and his daughter and even with a curse, he can't help but feel very, very blessed by that.

II

They manage to act relatively normal through breakfast, mostly because David and Mary Margaret Nolan luckily were quite physically affectionate people and so, Emma is used to hugs and kisses from them. A good thing, since they just can't help themselves today. 

The ten minutes it takes them to wish Emma a good day before letting her head off to play with Ava, Nicholas and Belle is definitely not normal though, and Emma gives them odd looks before she walks away. He almost calls her back, but as much as he would like to hold his daughter and never let go, he and Snow do have quite a few things to sort out.

First thing's first.

They link hands and walk over to Gold's house without a word. The night before, in-between re-exploring each other, they did also talk a lot, and arrived at the same conclusion.

Gold knows.

The man in question opens the door on David's third knock, and seems about to make a comment when he tilts his head and looks at them. David meets his gaze without flinching.

“Rumpelstiltskin,” he says after a few moments, and Rumpelstiltskin smiles in that way Charming remembers all too well from their own world.

“Snow and Charming, I presume,” Rumpelstiltskin says gleefully, opening the door and giving them an exaggerated bow. “You're early. I wasn't expecting you for another 18 years.”

“How do we break the curse?” Snow says, getting straight to the point.

“You don't,” Rumpelstiltskin says. Despite his mocking tone, he seems almost happy to see them, Charming notices. “Your daughter does.”

“How?” Charming asks.

“Time will tell,” Rumpelstiltskin says, making Charming wonder if that means that even the Dark One doesn't know that, or if he simply doesn't want to tell. “Don't worry. We won't age at all until it happens.”

“But Emma will,” Snow says. “You're saying she'll be the same age as us before the curse breaks?”

“Curses move in mysterious ways,” Rumpelstiltskin says, but for a moment he looks almost old, as if letting the act drop for just a moment. Then he smiles. “Emma will break the curse. She is the Savior. She will bring our happy endings back.”

“She'll break the curse so we can go home,” Snow says, and he can only nod. This world is a world with one unhappy ending there is no escape from. They're living in the ruins of it, surviving, but there is no future here. 

They have to get home. 

“She broke your curse already,” Rumpelstiltskin says, and he gives them another look. “Oh. Of course. True love's kiss. Emma truly loves her parents, and she's old enough to know that now. She awoke you with a kiss, didn't she?”

Chrming says nothing, but he's fairly sure his face is giving him away, because Rumpelstiltskin nods. 

“Will it work on anyone else?” Snow asks hopefully. He knows she's missing Red, even if Mary Margaret and Ruby get along quite well.

“No,” Rumpelstiltskin says flatly. “It must be true love, not just simply affection or a degree of love. It must be true love. There might be another true love for Emma as she gets older, but for now, you're it.”

Snow closes her eyes and leans against Charming, and he kisses her temple in comfort. At least they have each other in this, and he longs to bury himself in her embrace. 

Rumpelstiltskin watches them, a faint smile lingering on his lips.

“I assume King George's ramblings about a dragon in Storybrooke are actually real then?” Charming says after a while. It was another thing he and Snow discussed last night. Their returned memories have made a lot of things suddenly make a lot more sense. 

“He only knows himself as Albert Spencer,” Rumpelstiltskin says, and Charming wonders how it's possible to be so despicable in two different worlds. “But yes. Maleficent is there, in her dragon form. I'm sure you remember her.”

“I remember,” Charming says evenly. “What was in the golden egg you had me put inside her?”

“Something for a rainy day,” Rumpelstiltskin says just as evenly. “If we should ever have need of it, I am sure the brave Prince Charming won't mind slaying another dragon. Or perhaps it will be like father, like daughter.”

“We'll keep Emma safe,” Snow cuts in, her voice fierce. She would gladly face a dragon to keep Emma safe, he knows, or him. Just as he would. 

“I have no doubt,” Rumpelstiltskin says smoothly. “I know very well what your love can do.”

Charming narrows his eyes, but Rumpelstiltskin simply smiles. 

“When the curse breaks, could we bring survivors from this world with us?” Snow asks after a moment, another thing they discussed through the night. 

“This world is in ruins,” Charming adds. He thinks of the destruction, and even now, a decade on, shudders at it. “Those who survived might want to come with us and make a new start in our world.”

“Until the curse is further broken, none of us can leave Storybrooke,” Rumpelstiltskin says. “And to bring willing survivors scattered all over this world with us, that would require magic in a world that has none. That sounds rather impossible, does it not?”

“That sounds like the sort of challenge the Dark One just can't resist,” Charming says cheerfully, and Rumpelstiltskin looks at him and then smiles. 

“It is good to have you back, Your Majesties,” he says, and it actually sounds sincere. It must be lonely to remember among so many who don't, Charming supposes. He couldn't imagine doing it without Snow, or to have him remember and Snow not. It's too painful to imagine – and Rumpelstiltskin's complicated relationship with Belle – not quite letting her in, yet not letting her go - suddenly makes a lot more sense to him. 

“And what of Regina?” Rumpelstiltskin goes on. “You remember now. You know she cast the curse that brought us all here. So what are you going to do about the Evil Queen?”

Charming doesn't answer, and neither does Snow. They have discussed it, over and over last night, and always ended up at the same point.

They just don't know.

“Ah,” Rumpelstiltskin says, leaning on his cane again. “Sympathy for the devil? Or the Evil Queen, in this case.”

“She's not just the Evil Queen,” Snow says, sounding pained. Ten years of David and Mary Margaret's memories of Regina and Owen has ensured that, if nothing else. Of course, Snow also has additional memories of the woman before the Evil Queen, memories she's told him about. 

“Harder to just see the villain when you've also seen the suffering behind it?” Rumplestiltskin suggests, but there is an odd tone to his voice. 

Charming thinks of Gold's obvious longing for Belle, the glimpses of pain on Rumpelstiltskin's face, and the few times the Dark One act seems to slip up.

“Yes,” he says, looking straight at Rumpelstiltskin, and this time, Rumpelstiltskin actually looks away as if he can face derision and hate, but finds sympathy much harder. 

II

Regina and Owen are repairing one of the walls as Snow and Charming watch from a distance. The young man smiles at something Regina says, and then Regina smiles back. Even from a distance, Charming can see the genuine happiness in it.

“I hate her for hurting you so many times,” he says, and Snow squeezes his hand. “She cast this curse to separate us and make us unhappy. She forced all of us into this world, and this world ended.”

“I know,” Snow whispers. She sounds pained. “But Charming, she could have killed us in this world and she hasn't.”

“Do you really think she's changed?” he asks. He knows how much Snow would want that, and how much he wants it for her. It makes it harder not to see what they want to see.

“I don't know,” Snow admits.

“Can we take the risk that she has?” he says, thinking of Emma. Emma is the savior, the one who is meant to break Regina's curse. If Regina hasn't changed, Emma might be a threat to her. 

“If she has changed, and we act thinking she hasn't... Can we risk the harm that might do?” Snow counters softly, and Charming watches Owen laugh in the bright sunlight. 

He knows the pain of losing a parent too early. He doesn't wish that on anyone, and certainly not twice. Regina has become a mother to Owen, there is no denying that. Not with the decade of memories David Nolan has of Regina Mills. Charming might remember the Evil Queen, but David Nolan saw an entirely different side to Regina.

“We watch her,” he says and Snow nods. “We hope for the best, but we prepare for the worst so we can protect our daughter from Regina if we have to.” 

“Or if she tries to take you from me again,” Snow says, her voice filled with determination and just a hint of possessiveness. It makes him smile despite everything. 

“I will always find you,” he says, and the familiar phrase makes Snow pull him into a forceful kiss. It reminds him of the boldness he would sometimes lure out of Mary Margaret, and that he now knows was an echo of Snow. 

He moans softly as he parts his lips and feels her tongue brush his, and he pulls her more firmly into his arms to enjoy the sensation of her body pressed against his, to enjoy her. Snow. His wife. Emma's mother. Beloved of two worlds.

They're both breathing unsteadily as they finally pull apart, resting their foreheads together. He cups her cheek, drawing his thumb across her skin lovingly. 

“I love you,” he says, and the way she looks at him tells him she loves him just as much back. That, not even a curse could change.

II

They find their way to Graham's grave almost reluctantly, yet knowing they have to go. There are flowers there from their last visit, and Granny's grave a few feet away has flowers that are probably from Red. There are others they've lost too, they know now, who won't have graves.

They've lost many. Too many. 

Snow and Charming owed Graham their lives. David and Mary Margaret probably did as well. A debt of two worlds, now twice as impossible to repay. But if they have a son as well someday, he's going to be named Graham, Charming just knows. 

Snow burrows her head against his shoulder, and he wraps his arms around her and just holds her as they silently mourn anew the many lost, now truly knowing whom they lost. 

In the distance, a wolf howls mournfully, almost as if joining them.

II

It's harder to look at Sean knowing him to be Thomas, and that Ashley was actually his true love Cinderella, now presumed lost with their child. It makes Charming think of how he would feel losing Snow and Emma, and it's enough to make him pull Sean into a hug.

Sean looks confused at that, but Snow quickly distracts him by outlining their new plans. Another cell next to the one they built to house Albert Spencer just in case they might find someone else who is a threat. Upgrades to their farms and hunting practices, based on Charming's practical knowledge of farming and Snow's experiences from her years as a bandit of how to survive. Erecting additional housing for possible survivors who might find them in coming years (or coming decades, as it might be). No more scavenging trips to central Storybrooke (though obviously, they don't explain it with 'dragon danger' but rather increasing structural damage in town). David is to begin giving sword fighting lessons, and Mary Margaret to give archery lessons – just in case they have to defend themselves.

Sean looks slightly dizzy when they're done. He was used to David and Mary Margaret Nolan being leaders of sorts, but Charming knows he and Snow are being far more decisive and assertive today. 

“What's all this about?” Sean finally asks.

“The future,” Charming says, and meets Snow's gaze. That is the truth, after all. “Emma made us realize we need to think about the future.”

“The future,” Sean repeats. “Can we really hope for one?”

“Yes,” Snow says with conviction, and Charming smiles at her. Yes. They survived, and they built a community of survivors – but now there is the hope of something better, and happy endings always begin with hope. 

II

Belle is smiling as she reads to Ava, Nicholas and Emma, Charming notices through the windows, as they approach Belle's house. The sun is going down, bathing all four of them in a golden light. Like Ruby, Belle has become a sort of aunt to Emma. 

“Mommy! Daddy!” Emma calls, running towards them. Snow sinks down on her knees and holds out her arms as Emma runs into the embrace, and Charming watches his wife cling to their daughter with a sort of happy ache in his heart. 

Then Emma runs to him, and he lifts her up and spins her around while she laughs in delight. He has memories of David Nolan doing the same hundreds of times, but it's Charming's first, and so, he adds a few extra spins to it. 

She's already getting too old for this, he knows, but he will miss it when he can no longer spin his daughter around. Just as he misses not being able to cradle her in his arms any more, as he did when she was much younger. 

“Did you have a good day, princess?” he asks as he puts her down.

Emma nods. “Belle taught me a new word and how to spell it. 'Adventurous', that's a good word, isn't it? It's someone who likes having adventures.”

“That is a good word,” Snow says, giving Belle a smile. “Thanks, Belle. We're having a family day tomorrow so Emma will be with us then.”

“Emma told me,” Belle says. She looks almost wistful, making Charming wonder if she misses having a family or want to make her own. He gives Snow a quick look, and she gives him a nod. 

“You're welcome to come to dinner with us the day after tomorrow,” he says, and Belle lights up, as she always does when they invite her. “Ava and Nicholas can come too.”

“I'd love that,” Belle says. She hesitates for a moment, then seems to decide to be brave. “If I wanted to bring someone else, would he be welcome too?”

Rumpelstiltskin, Charming thinks, and exchanges another look with Snow.

“Sure,” Snow says warmly. “If he wants to come.”

Emma looks thoughtful as they begin to walk him, with one hand holding his hand and the other Snow's. “Is Mr Gold Belle's boyfriend?”

“What makes you say that?” he asks curiously, wondering just how perceptive their daughter is.

“She looks at him like you look at mommy,” Emma reasons. “So I thought maybe that's what boyfriends do. Cos when you get married you kiss a lot, like you and mommy do.”

“Oh, I kissed your daddy before we married too,” Snow says lightly, and he remembers quite a few kisses before marriage, and quite a few other things too. “But sometimes people love each other without kissing, Emma.”

Emma considers that. “Isn't kissing fun?”

“It's very fun with the right person,” he says, and Snow blushes slightly. It's also making him realize that sooner or later, either he or Snow will have to have The Talk with Emma, and the thought makes him quickly change the subject. “Mommy and daddy have been thinking about family day tomorrow. What do you say about learning to fight with a sword and shoot an arrow with mommy and daddy?”

Emma looks up at him, her face bright with hope. “Really?”

“Really, really,” he confirms. “We'll start with wooden swords and a small bow, but we'll work our way up.”

Emma beams, and Charming has to smile at her enthusiasm. It is what they would have taught her in their land, among a lot of other things. She is the daughter of a shepherd turned Prince and dragon slayer, and a princess turned bandit turned princess again, after all. 

“Would you like that, princess?” he asks, even knowing the answer.

“Yes!” Emma says, and he can't help himself. He lifts her up and swings her around and she laughs at him until he stops. He doesn’t let go of her, though, keeping her in his arms while she puts her arms around his neck. He can feel Snow's arms around them both. “But do princesses fight?”

“My princesses do,” he says firmly, and he can hear Snow's soft chuckle. “My princesses save the prince and the world and live happily ever after.”

“Like in fairy tales?” Emma asks.

“Like in fairy tales,” he confirms, and kisses her temple. “We'll make one of our own.”

II

They put Emma to bed together after dinner and storytime and packing for their family day in the forest tomorrow. While she falls asleep quickly, they can't quite tear themselves away for a while, watching her sleep for a long time.

When they finally find their way to their own bedroom and their bed, Snow kisses him gently, then with increasing impatience as he sheds his shirt and works on pulling hers off. He too, feels the ever-present need and want for her become demanding in response, and for once he doesn't bother pacing it. 

And so, they kiss and touch and stroke each other until there is only them, skin to skin, underneath the covers. They have each other hard and fast there, egging each other on until she comes while moaning his name huskily, and then he with a strangled noise into her mouth. 

Afterwards, she drapes herself across his body, and he caresses her back slowly while listening to her breath slowly calm. He almost thinks she's fallen asleep when she lifts her head to look at him.

“How are we going to tell Emma?” she asks. 

“I've been thinking about that,” he admits, as he knows she has too. “I don't want to give her a shock or make her feel like the rug has been pulled out from under her. She's just a child. We can't put a burden like being the savior on her so young. We should start preparing her, but I don't want to force her to grow up too fast.”

Snow closes her eyes. “I had to, when I lost my mother.”

“I know,” he whispers, pressing a lingering kiss against her temple. “Do you want the same for her?”

“No,” she says, sounding pained, and he kisses her softly. “I don't want to lie to her, Charming.”

“I don't either,” he reassures her. “She knows stories and fairy tales. Maybe we can tell her the truth as a story, piece by piece. She already knows part of the stories from the storybook Regina made her.”

“I've been wondering about that,” Snow says thoughtfully. “Do you think Regina wants Emma to break the curse as well? She must know this world has no happy ending for her either.”

“I don't know,” he says honestly. “Maybe. She did give Emma the book.”

Snow smiles hopefully, and he hopes for her sake that she is right to hope. 

“So we tell Emma the full story,” she says after a moment.

“Yes,” he says. “Then we get her used to the idea that stories can be true, and show her that this story is true too when she's ready.” 

Snow nods slowly. “When will that be?”

“I don't know,” he admits. “Rumpelstiltskin said the curse would be broken in 18 years. It may take us a while, Snow. We'll just have to be patient and love our daughter through whatever comes. Just as we will each other. What's 18 years when you have true love?”

She smiles wistfully, and then she leans forward and kisses him a touch desperately. 

18 years can be a long time, he knows, but with Snow and Emma with him, he has no doubt they'll get through it.

II

_Interlude: Emma and Neal_

II

Emma loves the forest. She isn't quite sure why, she just does. Mommy and daddy have brought her to it as long as she can remember, and all the sounds of it are now as familiar to her as their farm.

She runs between then trees, hearing daddy call after her to be careful and to stay close. He and mommy are resting on the blanket after eating lunch, and Emma can tell they're in a kissing mood from how they look at each other.

That's okay, though. Daddy taught her lots of moves with a sword earlier, and then mommy taught her shooting with a bow and even got her to hit a target with an arrow. It was lots of fun, so mommy and daddy are allowed to have some fun kissing now. Emma doesn't mind.

Besides, she likes running between the trees. It's fun, and she runs and runs, until she suddenly sees someone else standing between the trees.

It's a boy. Dark hair, bit taller than her, but not as tall as Owen. He doesn't seem to be noticing her at all, so Emma sneaks closer.

As she takes another step forward, she fells strange for a moment, like she passed through something almost warm.

The boy looks up sharply, looking straight at her. He looks startled, and it's almost funny. “Where did you come from?”

Emma crosses her arms. “From behind you. It's not my fault you didn't see me.”

“I saw you now,” he argues. 

“Too late,” she counters.

“Just in time,” he throws back. 

They stare at each other for a few more moments, neither willing to back down. 

“Where do you live?” she finally asks, curiosity getting the better of her. She's never met anyone from outside before, not since the mean man who tried to hurt mommy and daddy. “If you try to hurt mommy and daddy I throw rocks, and I also know how to shoot a bow now.”

The boy blinks. “You throw rocks and can use a bow?”

She sticks her lower lip out. “Yes.”

“Cool,” he says, and Emma decides he might not be as bad after all. “I'm from... Nowhere, anymore. We move around.”

“Oh,” Emma says. “I live in Storybrooke with mommy and daddy and aunt Ruby and aunt Belle and Ava and Nicholas and aunt Regina and Owen and Leroy and Sean and...”

She tails off as she notices the boy's confused look. 

“With a bunch of people,” she finishes. 

“Oh,” he says. “I live down there, with a few boys. But it's secret so you can't tell anyone.”

“Okay,” she says, wondering why the boy wouldn't want anyone to know where he lives. Maybe he's hiding from someone. “I won't tell anyone about you.”

“I'm B- Neal, by the way,” he says. 

“Emma,” Emma says, and holds out her hand. Neal takes it. “Nice to meet you, Neal.”

“Nice to meet you, Emma,” he says. He smiles, and Emma finds his smile impossible not to smile back at. Neal. She thinks she might like Neal. 

Maybe they'll even have an adventure together. That's what happens when people in fairytales like each other, after all.

II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Just a note on Emma and Neal since I have been asked about it. While I have and will change a lot of what went on on the show, the fact that Emma and Neal didn't end too well will be true in this story too, just in a different way. Just so you know, especially if you're a fan of the pairing – or if you don't like it. How that plays into the future and how Hook plays into Emma's life will be seen later on in the story, though this story will always be mainly focused on the Charmings and Snow and Charming.


	16. What we had growing up is never lost / and never kept

II

_Chapter sixteen: What we had growing up is never lost / and never kept_

_Emma_

II

Emma is growing up. 

She just isn't sure what she's growing up to be. 

She has plenty of role models, that's not the problem. There is Belle, auntie Belle with her books and her love of knowledge and sharp mind. There is Regina, auntie Regina with her control and cool, steel gaze that can make anyone flinch. There is Mr Gold, not quite uncle, who isn't quite what he seems but is very good at seeming like he knows more than he is saying. There is Ruby, auntie Ruby, who manages to not care what people think but to still care about people. There is Owen, cool almost big brother Owen, who wants to find a bigger world than this.

And there is mom and dad. Mom and dad who teach her how to sword fight and shoot a bow in the afternoon, and hug her relentlessly in the evening while reading to her, playing with her, loving her. Emma loves mom and dad more than anything else, but there is a growing part of her that wants to be... Wants to be something more than David and Mary Margaret's daughter. 

That's what everyone sees her as, after all. Mom and dad are the leaders of their little community, she has long since realized, and here she'll always be the daughter. 

She wants to be more. She just doesn't know what. 

II

For her eleventh birthday, Emma Blanchard Nolan Swan gets a necklace and a pony.

The necklace is silver, with a small pendant with unfamiliar flowers on it. Mommy tells her one is a snow drop, the flower that first grows after a hard winter, a true survivor, and promises to make her a crown of snow drops in spring. The other flower daddy says nothing about, but Emma still likes it. 

The pony is white with grey spots, neighing softly at Emma as daddy leads it to her. She's seen mommy and daddy ride horses a few times, even been up on one with daddy once, and she's often dreamed about having her own and riding through the forest whenever she wanted. 

“Is it really for me?” Emma asks, and mommy smiles at her with teary eyes. 

“Yes, Emma,” mommy confirms. “She's really for you. She has to help out in the fields too, but she will be your pony and we'll teach you how to ride. You can name her.”

Emma stares in awe, then lifts her head to touch the pony's neck. The fur is soft under her palm, so very soft and so very white.

“Snow White,” she says and daddy splutters. “What?”

“You want to name your pony Snow White?” daddy says. He sounds odd, and mommy is looking very odd. 

“It's my favorite fairy tale,” Emma says defensively. 

“Mine too,” mommy hurries to say, smiling. “It's just... To have a pony called Snow might be a bit...”

“Odd,” daddy says, sounding very odd about it. “Since we read the fairy tale so often, I mean.”

“Because you call mommy 'Snow' sometimes when you think I'm asleep?” Emma asks, and daddy's eyes widen. “You do it before you get all gross with kissing.”

“Right,” daddy says slowly, exchanging glances with mommy. “You're right, I like to call mommy Snow sometimes. She is as fair as Snow White, don't you think?”

Emma nods furiously. “Mommy is the fairest of them all.”

“Right,” daddy says again, but this time he looks at mommy with beaming eyes. “She is.”

“Charming, David,” mommy says pointedly, but she is smiling too. 

Gross kissing usually follows, so Emma focuses on her pony again, stroking the fur and marvelling at the fact that this is hers. She has a pony. Emma's pony. Just Emma's.

“Frosty,” she decides, and mommy and daddy break their kiss to look at her. “I'm going to call her Frosty.”

“That's a nice name,” daddy says, and mommy smacks his arm for some reason. “Would you like to go for a ride on Frosty?”

“Can I?” Emma asks, suddenly breathless at the thought.

“Sure,” daddy says. “I'll lead her by the reins and this will officially be your first riding lesson.”

Emma throws herself at mommy and daddy both, and they both kneel down to embrace her. Daddy puts his hand at the back of her neck and sighs, while mommy sniffles slightly. 

“I love you,” Emma murmurs, feeling daddy kiss her temple. 

“We love you too, Emma,” mommy whispers, and Emma feels that too. 

II

For her twelfth birthday, Emma Blanchard Nolan Swan gets a her first bow and quiver, and her first kiss. 

The bow has clearly been made for her, sized just right to fit her. She can pull it back with her own strength, not needing mommy or daddy's help at all. As she draws her hand over the wood, she can feel how it's been carved and formed to fit her. 

The quiver has clearly been made for her too, fitting her perfectly as she straps it on. Mommy and daddy have made this for her together, she is certain, and they've even set up targets for her in the forest to practice. 

They've brought their own bows, and she watches in awe as they shoot and tease each other. Eventually they end up having a shoot-off, the loser having to kiss the winner. Emma suspects daddy is a bit too happy to lose, and leaves mommy to claim her prizes after reassuring them she won't walk too far. 

They trust her to find her way in the forest now, which makes her happy, and she's smiling as she finds her way to _that_ spot, where she meets Neal every third month. He feels like a secret, her secret friend. 

Neal is waiting, as usual not seeing her until she's quite close (and have felt that odd sensation she always does when she reaches this part of the forest). He stares at her as she slips out between the trees, and she feels a slight blush in her cheeks.

“Wow,” he says. “You look...”

She lifts her chin and her bow both, wondering if she's allowed to shoot boys if they say stupid things. Daddy would probably say yes.

“Amazing,” he finishes, and she lowers her bow. Okay. Maybe that wasn't stupid. “I can't stay long. Or stay at all, really. August wants us to go to Boston.”

“Boston?” she echoes.

“Yeah,” Neal says. “He's trying to find someone. He thinks maybe the hospital took her in.”

Emma thinks about the end of the world, that catastrophe she's only heard about and that feels so distant, despite it happening just after she was born. “Is there anything left of Boston?”

“There wasn't much left of New York,” Neal says bleakly. “I don't know. But we have to try.”

“Oh,” she says. “Will I see you again?”

“If you're ever in Boston...” he jokes weakly, then sighs. “I don't know, Emma. But I got you a birthday present.”

He holds out his hand, and in it is a small pendant with a swan. A keychain. 

“For Emma Swan,” he says, trying a smile, and impulsively she leans forward and presses her lips to his.

There is no fireworks, no flash of magic. But there is a slight fluttering in her stomach, and it's okay. It's nice. 

Then it's over, Neal pulling away hurriedly and leaving her standing with a swan keychain in her hand and slight heartbreak. 

II

For her thirteenth birthday, Emma Blanchard Nolan Swan gets a dress and a dagger. 

It's a real dagger, sharp and pointy and gleaming as she holds it in her hand. This is a real weapon, she realizes, with a scabbard and a belt to go with it too. This is a weapon for her. Mommy and daddy trust her with a weapon. They have been giving her lessons with archery and sword fighting, but this is different. This is a real weapon. 

“You have to be careful with it,” mommy says, and Emma nods. She knows. Mommy and daddy have talked about that a lot, about how weapons can defend but also do harm, and it's all down to who wields it.

Emma is going to wield her dagger well, she decides. To keep mommy and daddy safe, and maybe she can use it to save a prince someday. 

Dresses can also be weapons, auntie Ruby has told her, and Emma eyes her new dress critically. It is beautiful, purple and laced, but what gets her really excited is when she realizes it actually comes with leggings and boots too. 

“So you can ride in it too,” daddy tells her with a wink.

“And dance,” mommy counters, and Emma remembers all the times she's seen mommy and daddy dancing in the living room while daddy hums the tune. 

“And knock out bandits,” daddy replies.

“Or be a bandit,” mommy says, and they both laugh. 

“I can be a princess and a bandit at the same time?” Emma asks eagerly. She can't help it. She likes riding and her pony and her new dagger and the thought of being that sort of Emma, but she also feels a secret thrill at the idea of dancing. If she can do both...

“Yes,” mommy says decisively, and daddy kisses her cheek and smile at Emma. “You can be whatever you want to be, Emma.”

Emma likes the thought of that. So they go riding in her new dress, mommy and daddy on a horse and Emma on Frosty, a birthday picnic in the forest. Mommy makes her a crown of flowers, and daddy dances with her in a meadow, and Emma keeps her dagger in her boot all the while. 

II

For her fourteenth birthday, Emma Blanchard Nolan Swan gets books, a new bed, hairbands, a new saddle and a very awkward talk.

“So that's how... Er... The bee pollinates the flower very lovingly and...” daddy fumbles, while mommy looks torn between despair and laughing out loud. They're all sitting on Emma's new bed, which is as big as an adult's and making her feel all grown up. The only one that seems to grow at all, it feels like some days. So is this talk. “Oh, to hell with it. Emma, grown-ups sometimes have sex.”

“Sex?” Emma echoes. “You mean doing it like the male sheep and the female sheep?” 

“Sort of,” daddy says. “Obviously not always in the same position, though sometimes that position... Um. I mean yes, sort of like the male sheep and the female sheep.”

Emma makes a slight face. “That doesn't look very...”

Daddy looks like he would rather be facing a dragon than having this conversation, and Emma bites her lip to keep from laughing. 

“It can be very...” he says, then falters. “A little help, mommy?”

Mommy laughs softly. “You were doing so charmingly, David. Emma, sex is... Sex is something intimate two people share. Sex can be great, if you're feeling it. Just like kissing.”

Emma thinks about kissing, and about the strange thought she's had lately that maybe, maybe it would be nice to kiss someone like mommy kisses daddy. Kissing used to seem all gross, but maybe it's like tomatoes, which she used to think were gross until she tried one and discovered she actually liked them. 

She liked the kiss with Neal. Sort of. She thinks of him sometimes, wondering where he is, wondering if she is meant to find him like mommy and daddy found each other, or if he was just a passing thing.

“Okay,” she says dubiously. “But how exactly...”

Daddy groans and buries his head in his hands for a moment. She almost takes pity on him. Almost. 

Mommy watches her, then narrows her eyes. “Emma, you already know what sex is, don't you?”

“What?” daddy says, looking up sharply. “Emma...?”

Busted, Emma thinks, and sighs. Oh well. It was fun for as long as it lasted. 

“Ruby and Belle already told me weeks ago,” she confirms and dad groans. “Belle had a book and Ruby had very detailed explanations.”

Daddy groans again, then pulls her into a hug. For a moment she thinks he's going to lift her up like he used to, but too late she realizes that he's instead tickling her.

“Pay-back,” he says as she squirms and laughs. He's merciless in his tickling, and she's soon gasping for breath. 

“Mommy, help!” she calls out. “Mommy, please!”

Mommy makes an exaggerated sigh, then pounces on daddy to tickle him. Soon they're in a laughing heap of limbs, daddy tickling mommy and Emma, mommy tickling daddy and Emma tickling them both. Eventually, daddy raises his hands and laughingly suggests a truce. 

They sit up, and Emma leans into daddy just like mommy does, while he softly caresses both their back with one hand each. 

“I'm glad you aren't too old for tickling matches yet,” daddy whispers softly, and mommy smiles as if she agrees. 

“Is this the last awkward talk before I'm officially grown up?” she asks, and daddy kisses her temple. 

“When you're 18, there is one more talk we have to have,” daddy says seriously, and mommy lowers her head. “But until then – take your time growing up, Emma. It isn't coming back.”

II

For her fifteenth birthday, Emma Blanchard Nolan Swan gets a tiara and a sword. 

It isn't dad's sword, but it is similar in style. A broadsword, a weapon, and holding it makes her feel strangely powerful. Dad has trained her enough with swords that she knows how to wield one now, and she carefully tries a few swings.

Her sword. Dad has made it for her, she knows, fitting for the style of fighting he's taught her. 

Dad watches her with an expression torn between pride and... Loss? He seems almost sad for a moment, then smiles at her as she sheaths the sword expertly. 

The tiara feels like power too, but in a different way. Mom treats it so reverently when placing it on Emma's head, and Emma feels... Strange.

“It was my mom's,” mom says, and Emma looks at her in surprise “R... Mr. Gold helped us find it. I thought it was time you had it.”

“Was your mom a princess?” Emma asks curiously. She knows dad woke up after a coma and had amnesia, but mom has never brought up her family. Maybe they all died when the world ended, like so many others did. 

“I'll tell you about her soon,” mom promises, avoiding the question entirely. “She would have been proud to have you as her granddaughter, Emma. Very proud.”

“Not as proud as I am to be your father,” dad says, and Emma blushes. “Happy birthday, Emma.”

“Thanks, dad,” she says, and catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror; a young woman with a tiara and a sheathed sword, surrounded by her smiling parents.

Emma Swan. Is this really her?

“You're growing up so fast,” mom says, almost sadly, and Emma wonders why she feels like she's not growing up fast enough. 

II

For her sixteenth birthday, Emma Blanchard Nolan Swan gets a new room in their house. 

The room she's helped build, though dad has done most of the heavy work. It's much larger, with worn furniture that mom has helped fix up. It still feels sort of small as Emma regards it, but she hides that emotion behind a smile. 

Mom and dad both beam at her. They're still just as she remembers them from her first memories, still as young. Everyone is, apart from her and Owen. It's become normal to her now, even if she sometimes wonders about it. 

“What's the matter, honey?” mom asks, and Emma notices dad looking at her curiously too. “Don't you like your room?”

“I love it,” Emma says earnestly. It is lovely, with shelves for her books and boxes for the toys she has outgrown and racks for her bow and sword. “I just... Is this always going to be my world, mom? This small community?”

Mom and dad exchange glances. 

“No, honey,” mom says quietly. “There is another world for you.”

“Right,” Emma says, as mom sits down next to her and puts an arm around her. Dad kneels down, taking her hands and looking earnestly at her.

“Emma, we would give you the world if you could,” he says.

“I know,” she says. She does, after all. They've loved her for as long as she can remember, giving her everything they could. And she has been happy. Is happy. It's just... “I don't know what I want.”

“Oh, Emma,” dad says lovingly. “You have so many years to figure that out.”

“When did you know what you wanted?” Emma asks curiously.

“When I found you and mommy,” dad says, and mom puts her hand on his. “Emma... Your mother and I believe in happy endings, but they don't always happen the way we expect.”

“Is that why you used to read me so many fairy tales?” she jokes, but mom and dad don't laugh at that. “Okay, I get it, I shouldn't expect to know it all when sixteen.”

Mom smiles softly at her. “Something like that.”

“So I will know it all at eighteen then?” Emma jokes, and both mom and dad laugh this time. 

“So impatient,” dad says fondly. “Now who do you remind me of...”

Mom gives him a pointed yet fond look before they both laugh, and Emma smiles at her very silly, occasionally gross but very beloved parents and knows her happy ending has to involve them somehow. 

But there is more to it, she is now certain, and she wants to figure out what else she wants. 

II

For her seventeenth birthday, Emma Blanchard Nolan Swan gets a red leather jacket and a whole new world.

The leather jacket is from mom and dad, a red one they've managed to find on a scavenging run and tailored to fit her. She likes it, wearing it even to bed after the party and keeping it on as she straps on her sword, puts the dagger in her boot, grabs her backpack and leaves the note on the nightstand.

She's spent several days trying to write that note. How to explain to her loving parents that she needs something more than this, when they've given her all they can? How to explain to them that they might be used to a farming life, but that she can't know if this is what she wants until she's seen if there are alternatives? How to explain that she feels like she's meant to do something more than this, like Jefferson used to whisper to her? How to explain that she wants to do something on her own when they've been her protective parents for so long?

She never did find that _how_ , so the note is simple. 

_I'm going to Boston with Owen. I'm sorry for sneaking out, but I know you wouldn't let me go alone. We'll be back as soon as we can._

_I love you._

_Emma._

Owen is waiting for her by the yellow bug as he said he would, giving a slow whistle as he notices her. 

“Cut it out,” she says. She's grown up with Owen, but she still isn't quite sure she knows him. He's always been Regina's boy, at least until now. He's no longer a boy and she's no longer a girl. 

“You sure about this, Swan?” he says.

“Yes,” she says. “I want to go with you to Boston.”

“Sneaking out without mommy and daddy knowing,” he says, and it almost sounds like admiration in his voice. “Didn't know you had it in you.”

“There's a lot you don't know about me,” she shoots back. “I left a note. They trust me. They know I can handle myself until we get back.”

He gives her sword a pointed look. “Swan, we're heading to a ruined city to look for medicines. This isn't an adventure. This is dangerous.”

“It wouldn't be an adventure if it wasn't dangerous,” she counters, and he almost smiles.

“Like parents, like daughter, apparently,” he says. 

“So why are you going?” she asks.

“I told you. We need medicines and not everyone can actually leave this town. I can.”

She shakes her head. “That isn't the whole story. I know when someone is lying to me.”

“Oh, like a super power?” he mocks and she tries to give him one of those looks that Regina is so good at. “Okay, maybe there is more to this story, but I'm not telling you yet. You in or not?”

Emma glances back at her house in the darkness. It's been her whole world for as long as she can remember, but she isn't a kid anymore. Briefly, she thinks of mom and dad sleeping curled up like she last saw them, and tries to push away the creeping sense of guilt. They will worry. They trust her, but they will worry. 

But she has to do this. She isn't even sure why, she just wants... More. Maybe it's all those fairy tales she read andgrew up with, giving her a sense of adventures and wanting to do something. 

“I'm in,” she says, swallowing. 

“All right then. Let's go for a ride,” Owen says, and Emma smiles. 

II

For her eighteenth birthday, Emma Swan will get heartbreak, but she doesn't know that yet.


	17. Chapter seventeen: Only love can hurt like this / heal like this

II

_Chapter seventeen: Only love can hurt like this / heal like this_

_Snow_

II

Snow wakes to a horrible sensation that something is wrong, almost crying out into the silence. For a moment, the panic, the sheer _no no no_ that screams in her mind seems to drown out everything else. 

Then slowly she becomes aware of the warm body next to her, an arm across her stomach and soft breathing across her skin. Charming. Her Charming, her husband, her beloved of two realms, asleep next to her as every other morning. (Except the mornings where he wakes up first and his wonderful hands and soft kisses are what wakes her.) That is right. That is as it should be.

What could be wrong?

She breathes, fighting off the panic and trying to calm herself. It only partly works, and the strong sense of something wrong lingers. Of course, in some ways this very world is wrong, torn asunder and forcing the survivors to live in the rubble. But that isn't the source of her current emotion, she's pretty sure.

Did she have some vague nightmare that she cannot remember, but left her with the emotions from it? Maybe. She's had many nightmares over the last few years. Mary Margaret had many – of the night the world ended, of Graham's death, of losing David, of losing Emma, of death, death, death. And after she remembered, the nightmares didn't stop. They just adapted, now being of losing Charming, of losing Emma again, of loss, loss, loss. 

She breathes, and feels Charming pull her closer and press a kiss into her hair.

“What's wrong?” he murmurs sleepily. She turns her head, seeing him regard her with worry through half-closed eyelids. He looks half asleep still, but apparently still awake enough to pick up on her emotions. 

“I don't know,” she says honestly, and his hand moves to caress her neck. “I just feel like something is.”

He nods softly, then leans forward to kiss her reassuringly and lovingly, and she sighs into it. 

“This is right,” he murmurs against her lips. “You and Emma.”

Emma, she thinks, the sense of something being wrong returning tenfold. They were going to have a family day with Emma, and she's always been awake early for that. Always.

Not this morning.

She pulls away from Charming, putting a hand on his chest as he blinks in confusion. 

“Where is Emma?” she asks, and his eyes widen, remembering as she did what day today was. Moments later they're both out of bed and striding towards Emma's room, hands firmly clasped. 

The room is empty. There is no Emma, only a small, scribbled note on her night stand that makes Snow's heart fall even further. 

No. No no no. 

Charming sees it too, and she can see his shoulders fall as he reaches for it and reads aloud with a voice that almost trembles.

_I'm going to Boston with Owen. I'm sorry for sneaking out, but I know you wouldn't let me go alone. We'll be back as soon as we can._

_I love you._

_Emma._

Snow closes her eyes, barely managing to stay on her feet with the sudden sharp pain that seems to pierce her heart. Emma. Emma is... _Emma_. 

Their daughter has run away from home. Temporarily, but still run away. 

Charming pulls her into a hug, murmuring reassurances that their daughter can look after herself, that Emma will be safe, though she suspect the reassurances are as much for himself as her. He knows as well as she does that this isn't a world with happy endings. They've tried to keep Emma safe their whole lives, and to know now that she's out there without them...

No. They can't just trust that she'll get home safely. They do trust her, it's not that, it's just...

They're her _parents_. 

Snow fights back the fear, lifting her head to look up at Charming. “We have to follow her.”

“Snow,” he says, and the pain in his voice cuts into her too. “You know I want to charge after her as much as you do. But I don't know if we can.”

“The curse,” she says, realization dawning. Emma hasn't broken the curse yet, and doesn't even know she's the Savior to break it or that there even is a curse. They had agreed to only tell her when she was 18, to not put that burden on her while she was still growing up. To give her the best childhood they could. 

“The curse,” Charming agrees sadly, and she balls her fists against his chest. No. No, the curse won't keep her from her daughter. No. “Rumple said none of us could leave until the curse was broken.”

“I remember,” she says, even as she shakes her head at it. “But if anyone knows a way around that, he will.”

“Yeah,” Charming agrees, nodding at her with the unspoken agreement that any deal that can make their daughter safe will be worth it.

II

Rumple opens the door on their fifth knock, and looks ready to make one of his little remarks until he looks at their faces. Then he simply lets them in without comment, and says nothing at all while Charming explains Emma's note and disappearance.

Something seems to glint in his eyes though, Snow notices, but what exactly, she isn't sure. Anger? Curiosity? Fear? Or is he perhaps pleased? She isn't sure.

“We have to follow her,” Charming finishes with. 

“Your daughter is extremely capable,” Rumple remarks calmly. “I've seen what you've raised her to be, a fighter and a future ruler.”

“But she's our daughter,” Snow says, almost choking on the words. Charming squeezes her hand reassuringly. 

“Children,” Rumple remarks, but far less flippantly than before. “Hard to let them go, isn't it?”

Yes, Snow thinks painfully. They've had 17 years with Emma, 10 as David and Mary Margaret and 7 as Snow and Charming, and it's still not enough. Not nearly. 

“We need to follow her,” Charming repeats, and Rumple looks at him with something that almost seems like sympathy. Then it's gone.

“You can't, dearie,” Rumple says. “Owen and Emma are able to leave because they weren't cursed. They came to Storybrooke afterwards. We can't leave. We're still cursed.”

“There must be a way,” Snow says, the desperation in her voice sharp even to her own ears. 

“If there was, I would have taken it,” Rumple says, and there is a strange intensity in his voice that makes her believe him. “Until the curse is broken, we are stuck here. If you try to leave...”

“If we try to leave, then what?” Charming demands. “You don't know, do you? You haven't tried.”

“No, I have not,” Rumple says calmly. “I know the price of magic. I'm not a brave fool. Best case scenario, you only lose your memories of your true self and is cursed anew.”

“I don't care,” Charming declares, and Snow swallows. “I will gladly be David Nolan again for a decade if it gets Emma back to us.”

She would give up her memories to have Emma returned too, Snow knows, but her heart aches with the possibility of losing Charming. Even if she will still have David Nolan, to be Snow without Charming... She would miss him desperately. 

Rumple sighs. “I suspect I cannot talk you out of trying. But there is another way, though I suspect it will demand another kind of bravery from the Charmings.”

“What is it?” Snow demands, leaping at the possibility. If she can keep Charming safe and Emma safe, she would gladly face all the dragons of the world. 

“We cannot leave,” Rumple says. “But there is someone who can. The one who cast the curse.”

“Regina,” Snow says, her heart sinking.

“Regina,” Rumple agrees. 

II 

“Charming...” she says the moment they enter their house.

“No,” he says flatly. 

“Charming...”

“No!” he exclaims, his anger not really directed at her, she knows. She's seen the tension in his shoulder ever since they left Rumple's place, and returning to their own Emma-less place hasn't eased that. 

She, on the other hand, feels strangely afloat, having already made her decision. She thinks she made it the moment they left, and she pocketed Rumple's duck-tape with the former noticing and Charming not. 

Rumple just seemed amused. Charming won't be.

“Charming,” she says again, taking his hand and he finally looks at her. His blue eyes are almost dark with pain and fear, and her heart breaks for him. 

“Snow,” he says brokenly, and she pulls him into an embrace. “I can't trust Regina with our daughter, I can't... I can't... I have to protect her. I'm her father, Snow. I can't...”

“Shh,” she murmurs soothingly. She runs her hands up and down his back, feeling his pain as her own – and of course, it is a mirror of it. 

Trust Regina to bring Emma home to them? Can they really do that, knowing all the Evil Queen did to ruin their lives? Even if Regina seems to love Owen and would want him home, can they trust her with Emma?

“I'm crossing the town line,” Charming says defiantly, and she swallows. Of course he will try that first. Of course. He is Charming, her brave, brave Charming that would never let his family suffer anything if he could sacrifice himself to avoid it. “We have to try it.”

“I love you,” she says softly, gently pushing him to sit down on a kitchen chair and then straddles him. He looks up at her, face bright with determination and love, and she leans down to kiss him. She tries to will all her love into it, caressing his lips with her own as tenderly as she can. 

He leans into it, moaning softly when she parts her lips. He seems happily intent on exploring her mouth, and it gives her the distraction she needs to lock his hands against the back of the chair. With nimble fingers, she's tied him to the chair with the duck-tape before he has time to object or even realize.

She can hear the noises of protest he's making into the kiss, and he's fidgeting underneath her, but she has him caught, she knows. 

“I'm sorry,” she murmurs against his lips, then pulls back and cradles his head in her hands. “I can't let you cross the town line.”

“Snow...” he begins, clearly about to explain why it's worth the risk and she smiles lovingly at him, pressing a thumb against his lips. Yes, it's worth the risk. But he won't be the one to take it. 

This time it's her turn. 

“I'm going to cross it,” she tells him, and his eyes widen in fear. 

“No,” he protests, but she silences him with a kiss, drawing her thumbs across his cheek. 

“I love you,” she says again, and steals one last kiss before hurriedly getting off him and reaching for her bow. She doesn't dare look at him, but she can hear his voice follow her as she hurries outside.

“Snow! Snow! Don't you dare... SNOW! SNOOOOOOOOW!”

The pain in his voice kills her a little, but she doesn't look back. She'll keep her daughter and her husband both safe. Even if it kills her.

II

What separates Storybrooke from the rest of the world doesn't look like a line at all, marked merely by a sign with “Leaving Storybrooke”. The sign is faded by now, looking as derelict as the town does. 

It still gives her pause. 

They've never been beyond this. After they remembered, both she and Charming made sure that their small community thought it too dangerous to cross, but even before that, no one seemed to ever really consider leaving Storybrooke an option. 

Except Emma. Their adventurous, brave daughter. Why Emma would choose to leave, Snow isn't quite sure. But she has some ideas. She has noticed the restlessness in their daughter the last few years, the spirit of adventure. Oh yes. She has seen herself and Charming in their beloved daughter, more and more with every passing year.

It is the most wonderful and yet most hardest thing in the world, to see your children grow up, she thinks and smiles faintly. Emma. Their wonderful, beautiful Emma. They gave Emma the best chance they could once, and that's still what they're trying to do. 

That means taking a few risks to know what their options are. 

Right.

She clutches her bow closer and takes a step forwards the town line, then another. And another.

“Snow!”

She closes her eyes. Charming. Of course. She knew she wouldn't have much time, but it appears she had even less than she figured. 

She turns around to see her husband coming at full sprint, part of the duck tape still tied to one of his wrists. An impressive sight, she has to admit, smiling faintly.

“Snow!” he calls again, his voice wild. “Don't do this, don't...”

“You would have,” she tells him, and she has no defence against that. Of course he would have. He was about to. “For Emma.”

With that, she turns around and takes another step. Another, and she's by the town line. She just needs one more step to cross it, to...

The ground shakes. Distantly, she hears a roar, angry and pained, and then the ground seems to vanish beneath her and she's falling, falling... Not falling.

A strong arm grips hers, and she blinks and stares upwards. The ground has opened up underneath her, but Charming has dived for her and managed to catch her hand in his as she fell. 

“Snow,” he pants, clutching her hand desperately. With a groan, he begins pulling her upwards, and she helps as best she can, managing to lift her other hand to grasp hold of him as well. 

Up, up, and up, and then, with a final pull, she's yanked upwards and falls on top of him on the ground. 

He hugs her to him, holding her so fiercely she can barely breathe. She clings to him as well, breathing in his scent. A deep gash has opened in the ground at the town line, she notices, as if by magic. It almost swallowed her. 

“Snow,” he says, and then he's kissing her angrily, passionately, fiercely, and she meets it with vigour. She's dimly aware of him managing to stumble them both onto their feet, his body seeming to envelop hers as they keep kissing. 

He finally lets out a shuddering breath and breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead against hers. He's still angry with her, she knows. But he also knows very well why she did it, and that he would have done the same in a heartbeat.

“How did you get loose?” she murmurs.

“Broke the chair,” he says, and she makes a note not to tie him to a chair next time (if there is one – knowing them, there might be). “I guess Rumple was right. We can't cross the town line.”

She nods reluctantly, glancing over at the deep gash in the ground. That didn't happen by chance, they both know. 

They can't cross the town line.

That leaves one option.

II

Regina has been crying, Snow notices with a start as Regina opens the door on the very first knock, her face falling the moment she sees them. 

Oh. She must have opened it was Owen returned, Snow realizes, and feels an ache of sympathy. 

“What do you want,” Regina says flatly. It's a demand more than a question. 

“We need to talk, Regina,” Charming says relatively calmly, and Snow knows how much that costs him. 

Regina seems to bite back an angry reply, then leaves the door open and stalks inside. Charming gives Snow a look, then they follow and close the door behind them.

“I know Owen left for Boston,” Snow says, and Regina looks up sharply. 

“And you're here to what? Give me parenting advice?” Regina spits out.

“No,” Snow say softly. “You've raised him well, Regina. You've been a true mother to him.”

Regina stares at her, then slumps into a chair and looks close to tears. On the table, there is a note, Snow notices. Probably Owen's note to who is essentially his mother now, just like Emma left a note for them. 

“Emma went with him,” Charming says after a moment, and Regina looks up sharply. 

“Emma?”

“Yes,” Snow says. She swallows. “Regina, can you follow them to Boston and bring them both safely home?”

Regina looks at them curiously. “Why ask me?”

“Because we can't,” Charming says, and he can't quite keep the bitterness out of his voice. “Due to your curse.”

Regina stares at him and Charming meets her gaze calmly. “You remember.”

“Yes,” Snow replies, and Regina shifts her gaze to look at Snow. “Hello, Regina.”

“Snow,” Regina says, her voice carefully even. “How long have you remembered?”

“Seven years,” Snow replies, and Regina blinks. “Emma woke us.”

“True love's kiss,” Regina says darkly. “Seven years? You've left me alone for seven years?”

“We're not you,” Charming says hotly, then takes a calming breath when Snow squeezes his hand. “Regina, we don't want revenge. We just want our daughter home and safe.”

“And you trust me to do it?” Regina asks, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” Charming says honestly. “But Snow does, and I trust her.”

Regina looks at Snow, and Snow lifts her head and tries to look confident. 

“You don't,” Regina says after a moment. “But you want to.”

Snow takes a deep breath. “I want to. Regina, this world can't have been what you wanted when you cast the curse.”

“I wanted a world where you suffered,” Regina says, and Snow can hear Charming make an angry noise, but pays it no heed. 

“I suffered,” Snow says mildly. “Did that make you happy, Regina?”

Regina gives nothing away, but that in itself is fairly telling, Snow reckons. 

“Emma will break the curse,” Charming says, and Regina shifts her attention to him. “You know she's the Savior. This world ended, but our own is still there. We can find a way home after the curse is broken, and you can make a home for yourself and Owen.”

“I am to believe you would let me live in peace after all I've done?” Regina asks, but Charming doesn't even flinch.

“You know how much I love Snow,” he says softly. “For her? For Emma? Yes. I would let you live in peace.”

Regina seems to consider his words for a while, then nods.

“I will get Emma and Owen home,” she says. 

II

They help Regina pack, give her a few weapons and plenty of food, one of the cars that still work and a lot of their petrol reserve, and follow her all the way to the town line to see her drive off.

Nothing happens as she crosses the line, her car speeding off until it's swallowed by the horizon and is gone. 

Then there is nothing else they can do, and they return home. Snow sees the broken remains of the chair on the floor the moment they enter their house, wincing at the sight of it. She can well imagine the force Charming must have used to break it like that, and the bruises he probably gave himself in the process. 

“Come,” she tells him softly, and pulls him into their bedroom. He follows her, looking quite desolate, and she knows for all strength, he's hurting from the knowledge that he can't be the one to follow his daughter. He probably feels like he's failed as a father.

Just like she feels like she's failed as a mother. 

Charming sighs as she makes him sit down on the bed, obediently lifting his arms as she pulls his jacket and then shirt off. He has bruises, just as she suspected, and she winces at the sight of them. Gently, she trails kisses along them, the visible symbols that she did hurt him today. 

She is sorry for that, but she would do it again. 

He closes her eyes at her caresses, resting his head against her chest. “I don't know if I can do this.”

“What?” she murmurs, kissing his temple and running her fingers softly through his hair.

“Just wait,” he says, and she smiles sadly. He's always been one for actions, Charming. It's always been one of the things she's loved about him.

“We won't just wait,” she tells him. “We'll trust our daughter. We'll have faith. She'll find us, Charming. She'll find her way home.”

He lifts his head to look at her, then nods slowly. Gently, she leans forward and kisses him; soon enough she's pinned under his body and he's kissing her hard and caressing her softly, together finding what comfort they can in bodies and skin. 

She hurt him today, Snow knows. He's just also so very loved by her, and he knows that. The wounds will heal. 

And Emma, Emma has hurt them today. She probably knows that. They won't love her less for that, but the love is what makes it hurt that much in the first place. It's also what makes it possible to get over it. 

Maybe Owen will be enough for Regina to get over all her pain too. That's what they're trusting. Love. 

Love hurts and heals both, she thinks, the last thought before Charming's hands and kisses and body drive all thoughts from her head and leave only sensations.


End file.
